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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  canadien  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographlcally  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


L'Institut  a  microfilm*  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  6t6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  d6tails 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-fitre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reprodulte,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  m6thode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiquds  ci-dessous. 


I 


rT/i    Coloured  covers/ 
jyi    Couverture  de  couleur 

k-p\    Covers  damaged/ 

PM    Couverture  endommag6e 

D 


D 
D 
D 
D 
D 
D 


D 


Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaur6e  et/ou  pellicul6e 

Cover  title  missing/ 

Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

Coloured  maps/ 

Cartes  gdographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encro  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 

Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
Reli6  avec  d'autres  documents 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  reliure  serr6e  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  int6rieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
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have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajout6es 
lors  dune  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte, 
mais,  lorsque  cola  6tait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  6t6  film6es. 


□   Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 

□    Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagdes 


□   Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaur6es  et/ou  pelliculdes 

□    Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  d6color6es,  tachet6es  ou  piqu6es 


D 
D 
D 
D 
D 
D 


Pages  detached/ 
Pages  ddtachdes 

Showthrough/ 
Transparence 


Quality  of  print  varies/ 
Quality  indgale  de  I'Impression 

Includes  supplementary  material/ 
Comprend  du  mat6riel  suppl6mentaire 

Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
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ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  6t6  filmdes  d  nouveau  de  fapon  d 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


D 


Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppl6mentaires: 


This  item  is  filmed  at  fhe  reduction  ratio  checked  bf  low/ 
Ce  document  est  film6  au  taux  de  r6duction  mdiqu6  ci-dessous 
10X  14X  18X  22X 


12X 


16X 


20X 


26X 


30X 


32X 


ttails 
5  du 
lodifier 
r  une 
Image 


es 


It 

I 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
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beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
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sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — ^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 

Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


L'exemplaire  filmi  fut  reproduit  gr&ce  d  la 
ginftrositi  de: 

Library  of  Congress 
Photoduplication  Service 

Les  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reproauites  avec  la 
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de  la  nettetd  de  l'exemplaire  film6,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 

Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimde  sont  film^s  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  solt  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  ie  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  film6s  en  commen^ant  par  la 
premiere  page  q«ii  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  teile 
empreinte. 

Un  das  symboles  suivants  apparattra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — ►  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  Stre 
filmds  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diffdrents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clich6,  il  est  film6  d  partir 
de  Tangle  sup6rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n6cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m^thode. 


/  errata 
id  to 

nt 

ne  pelure, 

ipon  d 


1 


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ONB   OF  THOSE   COINCIDENCES 

AND 

TEN  OTHER  STORIES 


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ONE  OF  IHOS[  COINCIDENCES 


AND 


TEN    OTHER    STORIES 


nv 

JULIAN  IIAWTIIOKNK 
COUNT   l.EO  TOLSTOY 
CHARLHS   G.  O.  ROBKRTS 
FLOKIiNC.L.    M.   KINr.SLHY 
AND   OLUKRS 


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Kcnisure.l  .U  Stationers' H..11,  London 

1  Printed  in  tile  United  StiitcsJ 

TWO  COFIES  HECEIVEU. 


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SECOND  COPY. 


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1 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTUATIONS 


"TiilkiiiK  with  ns,  lui  wouUl  break  off  to  wpeak 

,„  Meiry,"  Front ispieee 

"  A  lovely  iiifl  she  turned  out  to  be."        .   V:icin|,'  I'aKf    "-i"' 

" 'Mercy  llolliuid/ Kni<l  lif,"    ..."        "       '■i^ 
IJy  Klorciico  Carlyli'. 

"IIo   requested  tlirt'e  days'  Icavi'    of  nh- 

„  I.         «       4,! 

Hence,"        .         •         •        •        • 

"KriuiciHco  and  norin<iucn  were  coming 


u\>  as  lui.soners, 

By  Charles  .lolmson  I'osl. 


•I       '<      r,2 


"       «'      (to 
"       "     111 


The  conncil  lire, 

"  Her  fingers  were  very  Hoft  ami  cool,"     . 

By  K.  W.  Deniing. 
" 'Who  is  dead'."  she  asked,"  .         ,         .         "         "     136 
"Shoseemedtodissolveintoiheiwiliglit,"       "         "     IM 

By  .T.  R.  Connor. 
"\Vheelingsuddenly,hefirespoint-blank,"       "         "      1"6 

By  Chas'les  Johnson  I'cst. 

"The   moonlight  fell  on  while  lips  and 
drooping  eyes,"  .... 


"         "     200 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

.  Facing  paso  212 
i<         »     238 


A  strange  gi-oup. 

"Selina  fell,  limp  and  artistically." 
"The  ^outrabassist  and  drummer    were 
walching."  ■         •         •         '         ' 

By  Freeland  A.  ("arler. 

Following  Uie  spool,  •        •        •        ' 

The  problem, 

A  fire  at  last, 

Hy  C.  II.  Warren. 

"In  front  walk..!  little  fonita  Bencoma, 
By  Fi'Mjland  A.  Carior. 


i>         "      24-t 

Page  258 

"      262 

Facing  page  271 

(<         "      284 


f 


HI-  iiiiixf  212 
<         "      244 


Page 

258 

II 

262 

:ii 

g  pJi^'i 

271 

a 

II 

284 

One 

of  Those 

Coincidences 

By 

Julian 

Hawthorne 


Illustrations 

By 
Florence 

Carlyle 


1 


I! 


i 


ONE  OF  THOSE  COINCIDENCES 


TiiEiiK  is  more  fact  than  fancy  in  the  following 
narrative. 

Tom  Forrest  (let  us  call  him)  enlisted  in  the 
volunteers  for  the  Cuban  war.     A  full-throated, 
broad-shouldersd,   strong-limbed  young  fellow  he 
was,  with  a  frank,  manly  face   and   independent 
bearing.     He  had  been  brought  up  on  a  farm,  was 
an  open-air  athlete,  and  was  never  ill  in  his  twenty- 
three  years  of  life.      Clean  was  he  in  life,  language, 
and  person,  jolly,  liked  by  all.     He  spoke  truth 
by  instinct,  could  row  a  boat  or  sail  it,  hit  out  from 
the  shoulder,  plow  a  tield  and  plant  it,  dance  the 
heart  out  of  or  into  a  pretty  girl,  sleep  nine  hours 
off  the  reel,   and   eat  enough  for  two  men.     He 
laughed  contagiously.     He  dressed  well  when  he 
did   dress,    bat    pret.Mred   knickerbockers   and   a 
sweater.     The  grip  of   his   big  warm  hand  told 
you  that  a  man  had  hold  of  you- -hearty,  loyal, 
and  guileless  as  a  Newfoundland  dog.     He  was 
intelligent,   but  no  sage;    and  despite  a  sponta- 
neous morality,    fruit  of  a  well-balanced  organi- 

11 


i! 


ONF.   OF   THOSE   COINCIDFNCES 

zation,  lie   had   no   religious   convictioiis-to   liis 
mother's  and  sisters'  anxiety.     For  tho  free  from 
bad  habits,   he  was  insatiably  social,   and,   with- 
out a  Divine  star  to  guide  him,   might,   it  was 
feared,  go  astray.     Hut  his  material  environment 
had  always  been  so  bounteous  that  talk  about  sal- 
vation and  conviction  of  sin  could  not  seriously  af- 
fect him.     IT.e  was  sorry  to  hurt  your  feelings  in 
this  or  any  other  matter,  but-"  I  guess,"  he  re- 
marked to  n>e  one  day,  "there's  a  God,  all  right, 
but  I  can't  get  this  Christian  racket  through  me. 
It  doesn't  fetch  me,  you  know,"  he  added,  as  if 
comparing  religious  faith  with  a  blow  on  the  point 
of  the  jaw.     "  And  unless  things  come  from  mside 
a  fellow,"  he  continued  i)rofoundly,    "it  doesn't 
connect.     I'm  awfully  sorry  mother  feels  as  she 
does,  but  she  wouldn't  want  me  to  lie  to  her;  and 
there  you  are!"     So,  at  church  (where  he   went 
cheerfully),  instead  of  yawning  outright,  he  but 
expanded  his  nostrils;  and  that  exercise  in  self- 
control  was  all  the  apparent  good  the  service  did 
him.     For  my  own  part,  remembering  what  a  boy 
he  still  was,  T  had  hoiK-s.     Life  sometimes  reveals 
to  us  secrets  we  fail  to  explain' to  one  another. 

To  Cuba  he  went,  followed  by  devout  prayers, 
and  looking  well  with  his  uniform  and  rifle,  his 
springy  step  and  herculean  shoulders.  His  letters 
home  were  brief  but  comfortable;  he  liked  camp- 
life,  but  was  hungry  both  for  victuals  and  tighting. 

12 


! 


NCES 

ons — to   his 
10  free  from 

and,  with- 
ght,  it  was 
environment 
.k  about  sal- 
seriously  af- 
,r  feelings  in 
less,'"  he  re- 
Dil,  all  right ; 

through  me. 

added,  as  if 

on  the  ])oint 

e  from  inside 

"it  doesn't 

feels  as  she 
8  to  her ;  and 
lere  he  went 
right,  he  but 
(rcise  in  self- 
le  service  did 
ig  what  a  boy 
etimes  reveals 
3  another, 
ivout  prayers, 

and  rifle,  his 
3.  His  letters 
tie  liked  camp- 
s  and  lighting. 


ONi:    OF    THOSE    (•01N("11->1':N<'1''^ 

Tropi*'  heats  troubled  nul  ono  whose  blood  was  un- 
mllanied  with  alcohol,  and  who  was  used  to  tossing 
hay  in  bruiling  northern  suns.  After  the  regiment 
left  Tampa  we  heard  frcm  him  but  once  or  twice; 
after  the  landing  and  the  lighting  before  El  Caney 
there  was  a  silence  which  soon  became  ominous. 

At  length  came  a  letter  from  oue  who  had  taken 
part  in  the  San  Juan  charge.  ^^ 

"  You  should  have  seen  Tom  going  up  that  hill, 
ran  the  postscript.      "He  was  great!     At  the  top, 
the  Englishman,  Arthur    Lee,  asked  him,  '  ^\  hat 
the  deuce  are  vou  exposing  yourself  like  that  for? 
'  Oh  T'm  just  drawing  the  Spanish  fire! '  said  '1  om ; 
and  with  that  he  was  hit.     It  wasn't  fatal,  but  he 
Kot  dysentery  and  fever  later,  and  I  lost  sight  of 
him.     Hope  he's  all  right;  but  there's  no  telling! 

This  was  hard  news.      I   pass  over  the  heart- 
breaking suspense  and  dread;  many  of  us  felt  the 
like  that,  summer.     1  bore  a  good  face  to  the  poor 
mother  and  sisters,  but  the  odds  were  against  him. 
We  were  all  down  at  Easthampton  for  the  sum- 
mer; when  the  transports  began  to  arrive,  we  often 
drove  over  the  twenty  miles  to  see  the  boys  in  their 
tents.     The  day  Tom's  regiment-(n-  such  part  of 
it  as  could  be  crammed  into  the  filthy  steamer- 
was  due,  I  was  at  the  landing  with  my  camera.     I 
didn't  dare  tell  myself  I  expected  Tom,  but  there 
was  a  chance.     As  the  haggard  n.en  scrambled  up 
the  slope,  T  snapped  off  one  characteristic  bit  after 

18 


ONE   OF   THOSE   (  OLNOIDENCES 


another :  a  poor  tellow,  far  goiio,  on  a  str.-i,.'h('r;  a 
volunteer  olHcer,  plump  and  rosy  and  hectoring; 
a  gaunt  skeleton,  with  bony  face  half  covered  with 
a  straggling  black  beard,  eyes  sunken  and  staring 
and  gleaming  with  fever.  I  got  a  good  portrait  of 
this  chap  before  recognizing  that  he  was  Tom! 
I  stepped  up.     "  Hullo,  boy!     Glad  to  see  you; 

we  were  beginning  to  fear " 

As  our  eyes  met,  he  halted;  his  rifle  dropped  to 
the  ground  from  his  skeleton  hands;  he  made  a 
ghastly  al'^empt  to  smile,  and  a  husky  noise  came 
from  his  throut.  His  knees  shook,  he  tilted  for- 
ward and  l)ack,  and  collapsed.  I  caught  him,  feel- 
ing only  bones  in  my  arms ;  I  laid  him  down  gently  ; 
he  was  unconscious  and,  I  thought,  dead. 

"  None  of  that,  now !  "  came  the  harsh  voice  of 
the  plump  officer.  "No  shamming!  Get  np,  you 
loafer— you're  all  right!  "     And  he  kicked  him  in 

the  ribs. 

God  will  perliaps  forgive  me  for  what  passed 
through  my  mind  at  tlm*.  moment,  the  rather  since 
I  kept  the  wjrds  back  from  regard  for  Tom's  inter- 
t,3t.  The  officer  has  since  been  tried  for  cowardice 
in  the  face  of  the  enemy,  convicted,  and  drummed 
out  of  service.  I  ga\  e  him  my  card  and  asked  for 
a  furlough.  Up  c.ime  a  surgeon--and  to  be  brief, 
1  was  allowed  to  put  Tom  in  my  carriage  and  drive 
him  to  the  general  hospital  to  be  seen  by  the  sur- 
geon-iu-chicf.     He  gave  him  a  thirty -day  furlougli. 

14 


CNCES 

,  str«-i.-'lu'r;  a 
d  hectoring; 
covered  with 
Q  and  staring 
3(1  portrait  of 
vaa  Tom ! 
1  to  see  you ; 

le  dropped  to 
;  lie  made  a 

:y  noise  came 

lie  tilted  for- 

ght  him,  feel- 
down  gently ; 

lead. 

liavsh  voi(!e  of 
(iet  up,  you 

kicked  him  in 

what  passed 
le  rather  si  nee 
r  Tom's  iuter- 

for  cowardice 
and  drummed 
and  asked  for 
id  to  he  brief, 
iage  and  drive 
■en  by  the  sur- 
-day  furlougli. 


ON!*:   OF   THOSE   COINCIDENCES 

On  the  drive  home,  Tum  recovered  consciousness, 
and  told  me,  in   broken  sentences,  several  terrible 
and  touching  things;  but  the  many  things  credit- 
able to  his  courage  and  devotion  I  learned  not  from 
him,  but  from  others,  later.     He  fainted  twice  on 
tlie  way;  he  shivered  in  the  fres^h  sea  air;  all  his 
clothing  was  a  ragged  undervest  and  an  old  linen 
tunic  nnich  too  small  for  him ;  T  wrapped  him  in 
the  carriage  blanket.     At  the  door  of  his  mother's 
cottage  I  lifted  him  out,  and  up  the  steps;  just  as 
the  women  rushed  to  the  door  he  fainted  again. 
Ah,  what  a  meeting!     I  went  across  the  street  to 
call   old  Dr.   James,  who   had   known    him    from 
childhood.     "  You  were  just  in  time;  twelve  hours 
more  and  he'd  have  been   dead;    would  die  any 
way,  but  he  has  a  constitution  like  a— politician!  " 
quoth  the  old  gentleman,  after  the  examination. 
"  Fevers,  dysentery,  and  starvation  on  top  of  all, 
with  the  Mauser  l)ullet-hole  through  liis  shoulder!  " 
The  doctor  then  made  remarks  reflect  iiig  on  the 
powers  that  be,  which,  tho  very  quotable,  1  won't 
quote.      Said  I : 

"Will  he  pull  through?" 


"We'll  see! 


runted   the   doctor   behind   his 


gray  moustache;  and  turned  away. 

T'eople  may  hold  what  opinions  on  religious  sub- 
jects they  please;  there  could  he  but  one  opinion  as 
to  the  way  Tom's  mother  and  sisters  nursed  him. 
Dr.  James  did  all  possible  in  the  way  of  the  phar- 

15 


ONF<:   OK   TMOSI-:   COINCIDI'TNCKS 

macoiHi'ia  and  regim«ii;  but  tho  tenderness,  slei'i.- 
less   vigilance,   Hrmness,  faith.,  and  lovo  of  those 
thive  women  were  move  angelic  than  moi  ,al;  and 
thoiuiauds  uf  women  all  over  An-erica  were  doing 
the  same  thing.     Tom  was  much  too  ill  to  know 
it;    he  was  dithcult,  contrary,  persuaded  that  ho 
was  abused,  ami  most  of  the  time  was  delirious. 
lie  thought  us  all  in  league  to  maltreat  and  destroy 
him;  he  said  he  would  get  well  at  once  if  we  ..ould 
but  let  him  have  his  own  way.     He  accused  the 
doctor  of  murdeious  crimes,  and  quoted  amazing 
orders  from  some  source  unnamed  which  were  ur- 
gent, and  indispensable  tu  his  recovery.    He  pushed 
away  his  gruel,  and  declared  he  had  just  got  up 
from  table  at  Delmonico's ;  was  couviiiced  his  med- 
icines were  subtle  poisons ;  bade  the  poor  women 
"cut  his  throat  and  done  with  it,  if  they  wanted 
him  dead";  and  mingling  with  this  were  agonies 
of  dread  lest  "  they  "--meaning  the  War  Depart- 
ment—wouhl  kidnap  him,  set  mm  on  guard  duty, 
try  him  by  court-martial,  and   force  him  to  bury 
his  dead  comvades  under  a  hail  ol'  Spanish  bullets. 
Often   he   thought    himself   dead,   and    protested 
against  burying  his  l)ody  iu  a'Cubaa  riHe-pit.     All 
this  and  much  more  of  the  kind  was  commonplace 
enough;    how   many   families    are   there,    \i\^  and 
down  this  country,  who  have  heard  and  seen  the 
boys  they  love  best  going  through  the  same? 
Commoupl-^ce,  too,  however  thrilling,  were  the 
10 


ra 
in 
rcj 

bj 

b> 

(11 

tl 
d( 
a 

V' 

rf 

a; 

]] 

i\ 

c; 
u 
h 
I 
h 

S; 

n 

t: 

h 

0 

I] 
s 


!' 


SNOICS 


onp:  ok  those  coincidkncks 


erness,  sleoj)- 
ovo  of  tlioso 
I  ir>oi-,ali  and 
a  were  doing 
)  ill  to  know 
aded  that  ho 
vas  delirious, 
it  and  destroy 
Ke  if  we  vt  ould 
A'  accused  the 
lOted  amazing 
hich  were  ur- 
17.     TTennshed 
,il  just  got  up 
inced  his  med- 
e  poor  women 
f  they  wanted 
s  were  agonies 
J  War  Depart- 
3U  guard  duty, 
;  him  to  bury 
[)auish  bullets, 
and    protested 
I  rifle-pit.     All 
}  commonplace 
there,    uji   and 
I  and  seen  the 
he  same? 
lling,  were  the 


ravings  of  his  doliri\ini.  Frighlful  pictures  reek- 
ing i'roni  tht^  Laltlc-tield  and  tlie  stibsccpient  hor- 
rors rose  in  his  n  id  and  painted  themselves  hero 
—there-— as  his  trembling  linger  and  starting  eye- 
balls indicated;  then  with  a  shrill  groan  he  would 
bury  his  wasted  face  in  the  beil-clolhea  and  gurgle 
out  piteous  entreaties.  As  one  contemplated  this 
spectacle  week  after  week,  one  gradually  realized 
thro\igh  what  a  valky  of  torture  and  outrage  and 
death  this  boy  (who  looked  sixty,  and  ne.\t  thing  to 
a  corpse)  must  have  passed  to  liring  his  masculine 
vigor  and  kindly  serenity  to  this  extremity.  He 
resembled  our  <'lenr-eyed,  ruddy  Tom  about  as  much 
as  if  he  had  been  an  Aztec  mummy  in  convulsions. 
But  1  allude  to  it  ouly  to  introduce  another  feature 
that  was,  I  think,  less  ordinary. 

For  midway  through  his  illness  a  new  character 
came  on  the  scene;  to  be  accurate,  she  was  seen  by 
none  save  Tom  liimself.  Miss  Holland,  he  called 
her;  then,  as  they  grew  intimate,  Mercy.  Mercy 
Holland  became  for  him  the  chief  person  in  the 
house,  if  not  in  the  world.  He  was  full  of  her 
sayings  and  doings,  ideas  and  counsels;  but  he 
never  described  her  appearance  to  us,  because  he 
thought  we  saw  her  as  well  as  he  did.  He  deemed 
her  natural  and  inevitable ;  she  could  not  have  been 
other  or  elsewhere  than  she  was.  Talking  with 
us,  he  would  break  off  to  speak  to  Mercy ;  would 
smile  to  her  at  any  amusing  or  surprising  thing; 
a  17 


ONK   (»K    THOSE   COINCIDENCKS 

wouUl  have  Iut  callo.l-alie  luul  «',i..-  upsUiirs,  it 
seemed;  woul.l  insist  that  she,  no  one  else,  hIiouUI 
ministoi-  to  him.     She  wiis  moro  iimI  than  what  wo 
calh'<l  r.-al  ptTSonH,  to  him;  we  were  sha(h)\vs  ni 
his  divam  and  she  tlie  fact.      As  lu,  lay  alone,  wo 
heard  his  murmuring  talk  with  l.-r  throu^-h   the 
half-open  door.     "  Wlu^re's  that  list  .d'  thi.,gH  she 
made  for  m.'?  "  he  asked.      He  thrust  his  hand  m 
his  breast,  seemed  to  tind  it,  and  held  it  out  to  his 
sister.     "  I'mt  where  is  it,  dear?  "  she  asked.     He 
stared  at  his  emptv  fingers.     "  Extraordinary !  "  he 
muttered;  "it  disappeared  right  while  I  was  look- 
ing at  it!"  . 

In  sliort,  this  vi.^ion,  phantom,  spirit,  or  what- 
ever she  was,  became  so  familiar  and  recognized  a 
denizen  of  the  house  that  we  ourselves  half  believed 
that  she  was  a  reality,  and   we  got  to  inquiring 
after  her,  not  from  Tom  only,  but  of  one  another. 
It  may   l)e  recorded  to  the  lasting  honor  of  the 
three   hulies   that    tliey    evinced   no    jealousy   of 
Mercy,   tho   they  w.u-e  never   in  the  right  (with 
Tom)    and  she  always  was.     He   was   indignant 
that  they   ignored  her,  replied  not  when  she  ad- 
dressed them;  the  poor  souls  tried  their  best  to 
amend,  but  how  could  they  converse  animatedly 
with  empty  air?     Hut  for  one  reason  at  least  they 
blessed  Mercy :  from   the  start  she  had  imiuense 
influence  over  Tom  in  religious  matters. 

Illness  had  stripped  his  nature  of  winning  traits 
1# 


I 


M 

can 

and 

ath 

he 

ad  I 

did 

ten 

of 

lisl 
bei 
vii 
ul 

SOI 

pe 

asl 
rii 
an 
th 

vii 
m( 
an 
br 
fe 
th 
be 


pstiiii'S,  it 
■m,  Hliould 
1  wluit  Wt' 
lailows  ill 

alone,  we 
roii^'^i  *'"' 
tliiiigH  sli" 
is  hand  in 

out  to  liis 

dU'll.        II.' 

uiiry  I  "  lit' 
;  was  louk- 


r 


or 


what- 


'Cdgnizt'il  a 
iir  believed 
»  inquiring 
lie  another. 
inor  of  the 
lealousy   of 
L'iglit  (with 
1   hidignaiit 
len  she  ad- 
leir  best  to 
animatedly 
t  least  they 
id  immense 
I. 
inning  traits 


(»NK   OK   TUnSK   COINCIDHNCKS 

as   it  had   his  body  of   tlpsli   and   health.     Surly, 
cantankerous,    susiiicious,    ali(munably    seltish    ho 
was.      Alas!  how  nuich  we  owe  to  soiiiid  digestimi 
and  lively  eireidation  of  the  hlodd!     The  trained 
athlete  sees  no  need  of  being  born  again  ;  but  when 
he  rubs  elbows   with   death,    his    friends  at   least 
admit  that  it  would  be  a  good  thing.     Now  Merry 
did  sueeeed  at  last  in  m.-ndiug  the  rents  in  Tom's 
temper  to  some  extent.      And—'*  I  never  got  hold 
of  religion  before,"  he  told  mo  with   immense  ear- 
nestness; "  bid.  .Mercy  explains  it— I'm  never  tired 
listening    to   lii-r.     It's   gloriouu— so   simple   and 
beautiful!     No  one   i)ut  Men^  knows  what  a  di- 
vine thing  it  is;  but  she  never  speaks  of  it  exeejit 
when  we're  alone.      .111   these  years    I've  been   a 
soulless  beast,  when    1    migld   have  been  helping 
people  to  heaven!     Just  her  voire  makes  a  fello-." 
ashamed  not  to  be  good:  low  and  3weet— it  goei, 
ringing  through  you  like  a  lovely  bell !     I  guess  she's 
an  angel,  sent  back  here  to  save  the  world.     Thank 
the  Lord,  she  came  to  me  before  it  was  too  late!  " 
He  often  rhapsodized  thus,  with  impressive  con- 
viction even  to  a  man  of  the  world  like  me.     His 
mother  and  sisters  were  fully  convinced  that  an 
angel   did   indeed   commune   with    ))im,   and   was 
bringing  him  to  Christ.     They  rejoiced,  yet  with 
fear,  lest  she  might  take  him  with  her  at  last  to 
the  heaven  whence  she  came.     "  It's  only  a  crazy 
boy's  imagination,"  said  I ;  and  they  were  divided 


\ 


ONK   OK   TII(»SK   COlNCIDKNCKa 


between  rj'H«ntiiinnt  at  my  ftK'tiosticisni  and  u  m'wi 
liopf  1  u\\^hi  l»'  liglit-  I  was  ti'niiitfd  to  ask, 
"  Wdulil  ynii  vatlicr  Tom  lived  nnsiiiritiial,  «ii-  died 
coiivfitud?"  but,  not  li.'in,:,'  ai'tiv.'ly  dialiolii',  1  lo- 
fraimMl.  Mcsides,  "  I  don't  f»'el  safe  about  him 
wliiln  tluit  Meivy  Ilulland  nonsense  keeps  on,"  l»r. 
•lauu's  liad  onee  remarked,  mouiitiuK'  bis  wlieel  at 

the  door. 

Hut  Tom  improved  ineli  by  incli;  one  day  a  bar- 
ber shaved  liimj  liis  tlesh  be^,'an  to  ai>pear;  lio  sat 
ui):  walked  to  a  ehair:  ^,'ot  (h>wnstairs  (memorable 
day!).  His  t'yt's  were  still  unnaturally  big,  with 
sometimes  a  queer  roll  and  shine  to  them;  but  he 
diseriminattid  better  between  dream-seenery  ami 
eonereto  things;  and  when,  one  day,  he  positively 
set  up  a  tiiin  ('achinnation,  the  village  heard  the 
news.  His  temper  improved  pari  j>iissii,  anil  day 
by  day  years  seemed  to  drop  i'roni  liis  age,  till  he 
got  baek  once  more  to  his  twenties.  Meanwhile, 
what  of  Mercy'/ 

Imperceptibly  she  faded  away.  I  watched  her 
disappearance  with  deep  interest.  One  day,  enter- 
ing Tom's  room,  I  found  him  searcliing  his  i>ockets 
witli  great  diligence  and  increasing  anxiety ;  and 
as  be  looked  np  at  me,  I  saw  tears  standing  in  his 
eyes;  for  he  was  still  ridicnlonsly  weak. 

"I've  mislaid  my  crystal,"  said  he,  in  reply  to 
my    question.     "  I     couldn't    bear    to    lose   it— I 

couldn't  biar  it! '" 

80 


<CK^ 


oNK  OK  'iiiosH  ('(»in<'ii)|;n(  i;s 


iml  a  BiMivet 
ted  to  usk, 
\v,i\,  uY  di»'il 
iliolii',  I  ve- 
aboiit  liim 
'pH  on,"  I'r. 
Iiis  wliecl  at 

B  day  ii  liai- 
p«'ar ;  lio  sat 

(iiu'iinuablp 
ly  big,  with 
ii'iu;  but  lio 
Hci'ui'ry  and 
le  jiositively 
,'0  heard  the 
<sii,  and  day 
i  age,  till  he 

Meauwhile, 

watched  her 
f  day,  enli'i- 
^  his  pockets 
iuxiety ;  anil 
nding  in  liis 
ik. 

e,  in  reply  to 
3    lose   it — I 


"  Your  crystal;'     What  crystal ?  " 

"  Wliy.  tliat  one  Mciry  gave  nic.  I  always  wear 
it  witii  a  string  roiiinl  luy  neck,  so  I  can  feel  it 
against  luy  heart,  it's  oval,  alinut  tiio  si/c  ot  a 
ha/elnut,  with  a  gold  riui  round  it,  and  insitUi  was 
a  tiny  curl  of  her  baby  hair;  her  hair  is  dark  now, 
of  c.nirsi',  but  wlicn  silie  was  a  baliy  it  was  gultlm. 
Hy  .lovr!  I'd  rather  los.'  anything  than  that  crys- 
tal: she  gave  it  nie  liersfli— she  took  it  oil'  her 
neck  and 

His  strained  voict*  ipiavercd  and  broke;  there 
sat  the  once  strong  man,  sobbing  and  crying! 

"My  dear  hoy,"  said  I,  as  kindly  as  I  coidd, 
sitting  down  by  liini  and  meeting  his  eyes,  "dreams 
somelinies  come  true;  but  anyhow,  Mercy  Holland 
was  a  ilrcam.  'l"he  waking  world  is  not  always  as 
pleasant  as  dreamland;  but  yuu  live  in  it,  and  you 
must  awake!  " 

He  st:ired  at  me  with  naive  perplexity.  "  May- 
be she  was  a  dream;  yes,  I  guess  she  must  have 
be(Mi,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I'.ut  the  crystal  was  real, 
for  she  gave  it  mo  with  her  own  hands,  and  1 
promised  her  always  to  wear  it;  why,  I've— I've 
kissed  it  a  hmnlred  times!  You  don't  mean  to 
tell  me  my  crystal  doesn't  exist,  do  you?"  His 
voice  went  up  to  a  half-angry,  half-frightened 
shrillness.     "As  well  say  I  dun't  exist  myself!  " 

"The  cry.stal  must  be  all  right,  of  course,"  said 
I  comfortably.     "Think  it  all  over  quietly,   and 

•J  I 


ONE   OF   THOSE   COINCIDENCES 


you'll  i-fiutinbti'  what  you  did  with  it.  Solid 
crystals  don't  vanish  into  thin  air,  tho  the  girls 
of  dreamland  do.  Meanwhile,  Tom,  1  have  news 
for  you.  l>r.  .James  says  yovi  are  to  have  beef- 
steak for  dinner  to-.lay!  "  In  this  manner  did  I 
guilefully  woo  him  from  the  transcendental  to  the 
material;  for  man  has  a  stomach  as  well  as  a  soul, 
and  the  former  is  sometimes  not  inciipable  of  doing 
the  latter  a  good  turn. 

It  occurred  to  me,  too,  that  the  boy  might  have 
got  hold  of  a  crystal  somehow,  and  then  have  im- 
agined that  Mercy  gave  it  to  him;  but  for  this  hy- 
pothesis I  foand,  \ipon  incpiiry,  no  basis  whatever. 
The  women  knew,  of  course,  what  poor  Tom  had 
on  him;  and  they  all  artirmed  that  no  such  tlung 
as  the  crystal  he  described,   or    anything  resem- 
bling it,  had  ever  been  seen.     Tom  said  no  more 
about  it  to  me;  but  I  learned  that,  during  the  next 
few  days,  lie  secretly  and  separately  appealed  to 
each  of  his  faithful  nurses  for  information  about 
it,  and  evinced  the  most  acute  distress,  approach- 
ing despair,  at  their  failure  to  give  him  news  of  it. 
I  am  not  sure  tliat  he  ever  did  entirely  recover 
from  that  particular  delusion;  iuid,   as  you  will 
presently  see— but  I  won't  anticipate. 

Mercy,  I  say,  disappeared  gradually;  he  evi- 
dently saw  less  and  less  of  her,  and  was  adjusting 
himself  to  the  difficult  idea  that  she  nuiy  have 
been  an  hallucination  from  the  first.     If  he  started 


ICES 

it.  Solid 
o  tlio  girls 
have  news 
have  boef- 
nner  did  1 
intal  to  the 
11  as  a  soul, 
ble  of  doing 

might  have 
311  hiive  iin- 
for  this  hy- 
is  whatever, 
jr  Tom  had 
)  such  thing 
hing  resem- 
iaid  no  more 
•iug  the  next 
appealed  to 
lation  about 
s,  approach- 
n  news  of  it. 
irely  recover 
as  you  will 

lly;  he  evi- 
ras  adjusting 
le  may  have 
If  he  started 


ONE   OF   THOSE   COlNCIDF/XCES 

to  mention  her,  he   would  check   himself  with  a 
silly  smile.      Finally  he  reached  the  point  of  bra- 
zenly ridiculing  himself  for  ever  having  believed 
in  lier.      And  yet  I  fancy  that  deep  down  in  his 
soul  he  still  l)elieved  that  somehow  she  was  a  truth; 
that  the  nu  re  fact  of  her  liaving  no  substantial  ex- 
istence did  not  altogether  disi»use  of  her.     The  sit- 
uation was  not  lacking  in  a  certain  pathos.     Mean- 
while,  coincidcntly   with  lier  evanishment,   there 
was  a  cessation  of  religious  conversaoion  on  his 
part,     lie  never  volunteered  any  remarks  in  thai 
direction,  and  suggestions  on  the  subject  met  with 
no  response  from  him.      Had  his  faith  in  salvation 
been  destroyed  along  with  his  faith  in  .Mercy's  re- 
ality?    It  did  look  a  little  that,  way,  and  his  fam- 
ily confessed  their  anxiety ;  but  1  told  them  that 
he  was  probably  only  a  bit  shy  of  discussing  the 
topic  so  nearly  alliwl  with  his  delirious  vagaries. 
When  he  was  (piite  well  we  should  find  that  his 
spiritual  enlightenment  jjcrsisted.     Providence  has 
its   own   mysterious  ways  of  touching  our  hearts. 
The  good  ladies  tried  to  agree  with  me;  but  Tom's 
reticence  continued   long  after  lie  had  taken  his 
first  bicycle  ride,  and  was  accounted  cured. 

Summer  over,  we  all  moved  in  town,  and  opened 
the  regular  fall  and  winter  campaign.  I  ran  across 
an  old  friend,  Judge  Home,  whom  I  had  hardly 
seen  in  twenty  years.  He  was  one  of  those  lawyers 
who  get  !|;oO,(iiH)  for  a  retaining-fee.     His  name 


ONK   OF  TPIOSE   COINCIDENCES 

was  mentioned  in  connection  witli  the  ambassador- 
ship to  England;  but  he  preferred  New  York. 
And  "  I  don't  want  Mollie  marrying  any  British 
peer,  either,"  hfi  remarked. 

"  I  have  never  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Misr 
Home,"  said  I.  "  It  seems  strange,  Bob,  to  think 
of  you  with  a  marriageable  daughter!  Lalnoifiir 
a nn ! !     Posth  a m e,  I'osth ame  !  " 

"She's  not  my  own  daughter,"  replied  the 
judge.  "  When  my  dear  wife  died,  twelve  years 
back,  I  was  left  a  widower  and  childless.  MoUie 
(as  I  call  her)  is  the  child  of  one  of  my  clients,  who 
came  to  grief.  She's  been  the  angel  in  my  house 
ever  since  she  first  came  there,  at  six  years  old. 
She'll  have  all  I've  got,  of  course;  but  the  man 
who  marries  her  will  have  more  than  the  riches  of 
this  world !  " 

"  Any  one  in  sight  yet?  "  I  inquired. 
"No,"  answered  the  great  jurist  slowly.     "  And 
I  doubt  if  MoUie  is  a  marrying  girl.    Her  thoughts 
are  elsewhere.     I  thought  I'd  lost  her  in  this  war." 
"In   this   war!     Oh,  she  was   a  nurse,   I   sup- 
pose? " 

"  Yes ;  and  many  a  poor  fellow  owes  his  life  to 
her.  But  she  took  ill  herself  at  last,  and  for  a 
month  she  was  on  the  brink!  Exactly  what  ailed 
her  nobody  could  tell.  She  wouKl  go  off  into  long 
trances;  and  when  she  came  to,  she  would  refer  to 
some  young  man  she  thought  she  had  been  tend- 

34 


lUibassador- 
New  York, 
iiiy  British 

eeting  Mis? 

ob,  to  thiuk 

Lahuntnr 

replied  the 
welve  years 
jss.  MoUie 
clients,  who 
ill  my  house 
X  years  old. 
nit  the  man 
che  riches  of 


wly.  "  And 
ler  thoughts 
in  this  war." 
urse,   I  sup- 

3  hia  life  to 
st,  and  for  a 
y  what  ailed 
off  into  long 
ould  refer  to 
I  been  tend- 


[ 


ll  i 


,  I 


A  lovely  g>'l  she  turned  out  to  be 


T 


« 


w 


^■'^Ifimin 


OXK    OF     IHOSK   COINCIDKNCKS 

ing — ministering  to  his  soul,  it  aiiiiean'il,  as  well 
as  to  his  body.  'T  shall  save  him,'  she  would 
say;  '  lie's  a  ni)V)lf.  good  IVllow,  Iml,  he  lias  never 
known  our  Lord.'  It  was  ii  singular  case,  because 
she  alway.s  alUnbd  to  this  same  young  man,  and 
describeil  his  progress  under  hcc  care  day  after 
day,  until  he  was  out  of  danger." 

"  A  soldic'-,  of  course?  " 

"  Ves;  a  private  in  one  of  the  regiments  in  the 
San  Juan  fight,  she  said.  Was  wounded,  and  got 
all  the  fevers.  You  would  have  thought  he  was 
a  flesli-and-blood  reality,  to  hear  her  talk  of  him. 
She  even  imagined  she  had  given  him  a  keepsake 
— some  little  ornament  that  had  belonged  to  her 
grandmother. " 

"  What  was  it?  "  I  asked,  as  a  queer  thought 
dashed  into  my  mind. 

"  Oh,  a  little  crystal  locket,  with  a  bit  of  yellow 
hair  in  it — baby  hair,  I  prcsu  le.  She  has  always 
worn  it  round  her  neck.  She  fancied  she  had 
given  it  to  him,  and  was  a  good  deal  puzzled  when 
she  found  it  in  her  jewel-box  after  she  got  well." 

This  talk  was  in  the  club.  1  said  no  more  at 
the  time;  I  felt  it  necessary  to  think.  l>ut  I  ac- 
cepted an  invitation  to  dine  with  the  judge  at  his 
house  that  evening  and  meet  Miss  Mollie.  A. 
lovely  girl  she  turned  out  to  be,  with  dark  hair  and 
eyes,  a  pale,  mystic  face,  and  a  mouth  which  lean 
only  call  divinely  beautiful.     '"  You  never  met  Tom 


r 


ONE   OF    TIIOSI':   ("OINCIDENCES 

Forrest,  wlio  tUstint,'iiislicil  hini;;elf  at  San  .Iiuui?' 
1  took  uiH'ii.Tiou  to  iisk  lur  iluririg  the  evi-iiiug. 

"  I  may  have  iiit't  him  in  the  hospital  without 
knowiiij,'  liis  name,"  she  said.  Her  voice  was  ex- 
quisite—k)\v,  (lisliuct,  and  tender. 

"No,  lie  didn't  get  into  the  hospital,'"  I  replied. 
"  He  was  caught  ut  the  landing  and  taken  right 
home.  He  had  a  remarkahlc  hallucination  during 
his  illnes-;,  I'.ob,"  I  added,  turning  to  the  judge. 
"He  fancied  he  was  tended  by  a  young  woman 
whom  he  called  Mercy  Holland.  She  seemed  to 
have  a  strong  religious  iuHuence  over  him — he  had 
hcen  rather  deficient  in  that  way  previously.  She 
almost  came  to  seem  a  reality  to  us  at  last.  Ho 
declared  she  had  given  him  some  memento,  and 
wa.^  much  distressed  when  he  couldn't  find  it. 
'Wo  are  such  stuff  us  dreams  are  made  of,'  "  I 
added,  smiling. 

I  had  shot  my  bolt;  did  it  hit  the  mark?  I 
could  not  tell.  The  judge  apparently  took  little 
notice,  and  soon  changed  the  subject  (but  MoUie 
lap.sed  into  a  star-eyed  silence) .  After  dinner,  in 
the  drawing-room,  I  took  a  seat  beside  her.  I  had 
already  noticed  a  slender  gold  chain  rovmd  her 
throat;  slie  had  now  drawn  out  the  pendant  that 
was  atta  hed  to  it,  and  was  turning  it  between  her 
slender  fingers.  It  was  an  egg-shaped  crystal 
about  three  quarters  of  an  inch  long,  and  there 
was  a  golden  gleam  from  within  it. 

26 


•:nces  ■ 

Siui  .luaiiV'' 
evening, 
pital   without 
voice  was  ex- 

.1,'"  I  replied. 
[  taken  right 
nation  duving 
,o  thi>  jndge. 
•oung  woman 
le  ofeiiied  to 
him — he  had 
.-iously.  She 
at  hist.  He 
ueraento,  and 
dn't  find  it. 
made  of,'  "  I 

;he  mark?  I 
:ly  took  little 
it  (but  Mollie 
ter  dinner,  in 
le  her.  I  had 
iu  rovmd  her 
pendant  that 
t  between  her 
laped  crystal 
ug,  antl  there 


ONK    OF   THOSE   COINCIDKNCP^S 

"Mv  grandmotiu'i's  name  - -her  maiden  name  - 
was  iviercy  Holland,"  said  she;  "and  my  Christian 
name  i.;  the  same  as  hers,  though  I  am  called 
Mollie." 

"  Is  that  her  hair  in  the  lockef.'  "   I  asked. 

"  I  have  always  supposed  so,"  said  she. 

She  took  it  very  (juietly;  but  I  felt  that  I  was 
treading  on  holy  ground.  "  I  would  like  to  bring 
my  friend  Tom  Forre.st  to  see  you,"  I  said  after 
a  while. 

"  Ves,  I  must  see  him,"  she  replied,  with  a 
slight  tremor  in  her  wonderful  voice.  She  com- 
prehended the  situation,  but  it  did  not  astonish 
her.  Persons  who,  like  her,  live  iu  the  spirit 
have  their  own  uiterpretation  of  what  we  prefer 
to  call  coincidences. 

The  meeting,  as  it  chanced,  took  place  accident- 
ally on  the  avenue,  where  1  was  walking  with  Tom 
three  days  later.  I  had  told  him  nothing.  She 
came  walking  toward  \ls,  alone,  but  stopped  as  she 
recognized  me.  "  Here's  a  friend  of  mine  1  want 
you  to  know,"  said  I,  indicating  Tom.  Neither 
of  them  knew  the  other ;  but  when  she  spoke,  Tom 
started,  and  ho  always  insisted  afterward  that  he 
recognized  lier  voice.  "  1  spoke  to  you  of  Tom 
Forrest,  you  know,"  1  said  to  her.  She  looked 
earnestly  in  his  face,  and  a  shade  of  perplexity  or 
disa',)pointment  darkened  in  her  eyes.  Now,  Tom 
had  grown  absurdly  fat  since  his  illness,  and  seemed 

27 


ONE   (»F   THOSE   COrXClDENCES 

a  full  tweiit}  puunds  houvier  tli;ui  ]u'.  IkuI  befti  bL-foic 
enliatiiif,'.  T  put,  my  hand  in  my  i«icki't,  ami  pulled 
out  the  ulii.Uigriiiih  1  had  tiikcii  of  hiiu  whou  he 
came  up  fn.ui  the  landing  at  WykolT.  She  glanced 
at  the  gaunt,  beanlcd  countenance;  her  own  face 
lightened  with  a  nKiivelous,  maidenly  radiance, 
and  she  put  out  her  hand. 

"  Rut  you  haven't  told  him  my  name,"  she  said 

to  nic. 

Then  Tom'd  eyes  were  opened.  ("Mercy  Hol- 
land! "  said  he.) 

I  am  an  annalist,  not  a  prophet;  and  I  have 
brought  this  tale  up  to  date— the  meeting  occurred 
ciuly  a  week  ago.  What  the  end  will  be,  you  can 
Burmise  to  suit  yourself;  all  I  can  add,  at  present, 
is  that  Tom  has  the  crystal  locket.  As  to  expla- 
nations, I  have  absolutely  none  to  offer. 


INCES 


1  been  biifoio 
t,  anil  pulled 
liiii  wiieii  he 
She  gliiiicetl 
icr  own  face 
ly   nulianci^, 


lie,     she 


said 


'Mercy  Ilol- 


and  I  liave 
ting  occurred 

be,  you  can 
1,  at  present, 

As  ti)  expla- 
er. 


Mercy  Holland,"  said  he. 


i 


« 


I 


Francisco 

Wolcott  Le  Clear  Beard 

Illustrations 

By 

Charles  Johnson  Post 


2d 


T 


II 


FRANCISCO 


VAllT   I. 

TiiK  hour  inul  method  chosen  by  Franrisco  for 
makuig  our  !ie.iu:iiiitiuic,('-the  ac(iuiiiul;iuco  of 
Conipuny  M  of  the  15tli^ -wore,  to  say  tho  least, 
uncouuuou.  That  was  not  so  strange-  most  thnigs 
that  Francisco  did  were  uncommon-  but  the  i.u'tluxl 
also  lacked  that  dignity  which  has  always  been  ono 
of  Francisco's  stroiigtst  points. 

We  were  a  one-company  post,  detached  from  our 
regiment  and  stationed  on  tlic  great  military  road 
which  divides  Puerto  Uico  in  halves  to  keep  order 
along  a  portion  of  its  Imgth.     The  hour  was  about 
two  in  the  morning,  the  night  had  been  fearfully 
hot,  and  I,  unable  to  sleep,  was  still  tossing  un- 
easily on  my  camp-cot  in  the  lieutenants'  tent  at 
the  head  of  the  company  street  when  there  came 
the  crack  of  a  pistol-shot  faint  in  the  distance.     I 
sat  up  and  listened.     T\wn  followed  another  re- 
port, still  another,  and   finally  a  scattering  volley, 
sounding  like  a  distant  pack  of  firecrackers.     I 

31 


FRAN<1S('0 

jumped  out  of  bed  und  bcgau  frantically  to  scram- 
ble into  my  uniiorm- juLst  as  one  of  the  sentinels 
fired  his  vitle  and  called  for  the  guard. 

In  an  instant  the  camp  was  humnung  like  a  bee- 
hive. Men  were  tumbling  out  us  non-commissioned 
otticers  in  sketchy  attire  ran  from  one  tent  to  an- 
other and  the  bugles  blew  the  shrill  call  to  arms 
l'.y  the  time  I  stepped  forth,  hooking  my  belt  as  1 
went,  the  men  were  standing  in  an  ex.^ited  but 
orderly  line.  The  Haps  of  the  captain's  tent  parted, 
and  his  head  poked  out. 

"  I  don't  want  to  go,  and  you're  the  only  other 
company  otfioer,"  quoth  he  sleepily.  "  Vou  know 
what  to  do.  If  you  llud  any  guerrillas,  bring  them 
back  and  put  them  in  the  guurd-luiuse  until  moru- 
in..  If  you  catch  anyb.  ly  and  don't  km.w 
whether  he's  a  guerrilla  or  not,  give  him  the  bene- 
fit of  the  doubt  and  bring  him  in  anyhow.  See 
you  at  breakfast."  The  captain's  head  vanished 
before  it  finished  speaking. 

With  a  rattle  of  breech-blocks  and  magazines 
the  pieces  were  loaded  and  locked;  the  bayonets 
glanced  in  the  watery  moonlight  as  they  left  their 
scabbards.  More  shots,  yells,  and  a  red  glare  in 
the  sky  gave  an  extra  spring  to  the  legs  of  the 
company  as  it  wheeled  into  a  colunu,  of  fours  and 
with  its  armv  brogans  pounded  the  macadam  of 
the  great  road.  The  glare  diminished  as  we  went, 
but  Uie  shooting  increased,  and  so  did  the  yells. 

33 


ioally  to  scram- 

jf  tlit^  seutiuels 

ird. 

uiug  like  a  bee- 

iii-coinmissioued 

one  tent  to  au- 
rill  call  to  anus, 
iiig  my  Vielt  as  I 

an  excited  bvit 
lin's  tent  parted, 

i-e  the  only  other 
ly.  "  Vuu  know 
•illas,  bring  them 
louse  until  moru- 
nd  don't  know 
ive  him  the  bene- 
in  anyhow.  Hee 
I's  head  vanished 

:s  and  magazines 
ed;  the  bayonets 
as  they  left  their 
id  a  red  glare  in 
o  tlie  legs  of  the 
unm  of  fours  and 
the  maeadam  of 
lished  as  we  went, 
so  did  the  yells. 


T 


:} 


FRANCISr<l 

No  Puerto  Rican  can  do  anything  without  yelling 
From   the    sounds,   we  were    drawing   nearer  the 
Lne  of  action;  then  a  turn  rn  the  road  brought 

us  within  sight  of  it. 

in  the  center  of  a  square  field  surrounded  on 
three  sides  by  banana-plantations  stood  a  house- 
evidentlY  a  place  of  some  importance,  for  it  ^^  as 
ge  and  built  of  brick.     Several  native  huts  of 
fl'  n  y  thateh  had  been  standing  near  it   but  now 
Lr'siteswere  marked  only  by  piles  o    glowiug 
coals  around  which  stood  their  former  inhabitants 
ga^  ng  in  terror  at  the  crowd  of  men  which  ranged 
about   the  great  house.      I'-y  the  dim  moonlight 
aided  by  the  dull,  red  glow  of  the  coals,  we  could 
:eethis\rowd  only  as  a  black  mass     a  yelling, 

shifting  mass-from  which  issued  spirts  o  flam  , 
yells,  and  reports  of  pistols  as  it  swayed  this  ^v  ay 
and  that  m  front  of  the  veranda  which  shadowed 

the  door.  „„,.,.9  " 

"Shall   I   get  off  the  flankin'   parties    soi 
whispered    Sergeant  Clancy.     I    nodded-I   had 
Teen^bout  to  give  the  order.   ;^^^^^^f^^ 
one  to  each  side  and  one  to  the  back  ot  tlie  held 
Each  party  on  reaching  its  station  was  to  ex  end  its 
uL  and  cover  the  side  assigned  to  it,  -I'^l;/^-  -f 
of  the  company  deployed  under  coN-er  of  the  p  ne 
apple-hedge  that  divided  the  field  from  the  road, 
tuddenfy  several  men  darted  from  the  yeUvng 
crowd  and  ran  toward  the  veranda  steps.     Ihey 
3  33 


FRANCISCO 

did  not  get  far.  A  red  fla«h  streaked  the  dark- 
uess,  accon.yanied  by  the  resounding  bang  of  a 
shotgun.  Nobody  seeu>ed  hurt-I  cou  d  hear  the 
shot  tearing  through  the  leaves  of  the  banana- 
,,Ums-b..t  it  had  a  wonderful  effect.  Ihe  men 
who  had  started  for  the  house  ran  much  faster  in 
the  opposite  direction,  and  the  crowd  scattered 
like  the  pieces  of  a  bursting  shell.  In  another 
moment,  tho,  it  reassembled,  yelping  shnll  curses 

at  those  within. 

"Them   fellers  is  the  native  population,  sorr, 
rm  thinkin',"   said   First  Sergeant  Clancy,  in  a 
1  ,w  tone.     "They're  makin'  an  effort  to  get  even 
with  the   Spanishers  what   lives   in   that   house. 
See'     They're  a-thryin'  it  again.'"     Sure  enough, 
they  didnhry  it  again,"  and  again  the  shotgun 
.poke-and  this  time  with  more  success.     No  one 
f!.ll,  it  is  true,  but  some  yells  that  followed  were 
y.lls  of  pain   and  not  of  rage  alone.     The  men 
hui.'hed,  yet  they  fidgeted  nervously  as  they  lay 
on  the  ground  behind  the  hedge;  the  non-commis- 
.ioned  otticers  spoke  to  them  in  gruff  whispers, 
telling  them  to  wait  and  give  the  flanking  parties 
time  to  reach  their  posts.     The  men  had  not  long 
to  wait.     A  shrill  whistle  coming  from  one  side 
of  tho  rectangular  tield  was  answered  after  short 
intervals  by  other  whistles  from  the  remaining  two 
sides.     Then  at  a  nod  from  me  a  bugler  jun.ped 
U,  his  f.et  and,  running  a  little  way  into  the  held, 

31 


iked  Uie  dark  ■ 
,iig  bung  of  a 
could  bear  the 
£  the  banana- 
3ot.  The  men 
much  faster  in 
rowd  scattered 
11.  In  another 
\g  shrill  curses 

jpulation,   sorr, 
it  Clancy,  in  a 
ort  to  get  even 
in   that   house. 
■     Sure  enough, 
lin  the  shotgun 
access.     No  one 
it  followed  were 
lone.     The  men 
usly  as  they  lay 
the  non-commis- 
gruff  whispers, 
flanking  parties 
len  had  not  long 
g  from  one  side 
,vered  after  short 
he  remaining  two 
a  bugler  jumped 
'ay  into  the  Held, 


Y 


FRAXCISC'O 

began  to  blow.  He  was  a  young  bugler,  and  was 
much  excited.  Instead  of  the  "  assembly,  which 
ho  was  to  have  soun.led,  the  jerky  notes  of  the 
mess-call  sounded  through  the  air: 

"I'orky,  pniky,  ixirky, 
(•()i(\e  and  gft  your  beiins." 

With  a  yell,  half  laugh  and  half  cheer,  the  men 
sprang  to  their  feet  and  rushed  forward.      Ihon 
f<n-   the   iirst   time  the   assailants  saw  us        Che 
crowd  dissolved  like  a  putf  of  smoke,  and  tlu.se 
who  had  composed  it  ran  in  frantic  efforts  to  es- 
cape first  to  one,  then  another  side  of  the  he  d- 
onlv  to  be  turned  back  by  the  rows  of  shinmg  l.uy- 
ouets  which  met  them.     The  bayonets  advanced, 
drawing  nearer  together  as  they  did  so.     It  was 
all  over  in  a  few  minutes.     The  company,  stan(  - 
ing  in  a  hollow  square,   faced  inward,  surround- 
■Jr  a  frightened,  dejected  herd  of  men,  who  stood 
hmldled  together,  thoroughly  convinced  that  they 
had  been  so  gathered  ready  for  the  slaughter  winch 
their  former  masters,  the  Spaniav.ls,  had  so  often 
told  them  was  the   invariable   An.erican  custom. 
Our  prisoners  were  much  relieved,  therefore,  when 
instead  of  being  killed,  they  were  merely  marched 
under  guard  to  the  road  and  held  there.      They 
thought,  as  T  afterward  discovered,  that  the  mas- 
sacre would  without   doubt   come   later;   still,   it 

was  a  reprieve. 

86 


FRANCISCO 


In  the  mean  time  the  ground  was  once  n.ore 
caveiully  drawn   by   a  line  of  n.en,  with  the    re- 
ting   .liscovery    of  one  or  two    stragglers  who 
L  hidden    themselves   here    -d    t  e..    beW 
bushes  and  the  like.     They  were  sent  to  jom  the 

'^The    house   itself    remained    dark   and   silent 
Whether  or  not  any  one  inside  had  been  hurt,  .t 
was  impossible  to  say. 

»  Who  is  there  in  the  house?  "  I  caUed  m  Span- 
ish.    I  waited,  and  receiving  no  reply,  I  repeated 

^'^^Cte-and  others,"  a  shrill  voice  at  la.t 

„i      »T  pave  us.     He  who  attempts  to  c.-me 
answered.        J-'ea\  e  us. 

'"'at'saVoy""' whispered  Sergeant  Clancy,-"  or  a 
.urrul."  As  he  spoke  he  incautiously  showed  lum- 
slf  A  gun-barrel  innnediately  protruded  from  a 
Tie  in  the  door-from  where  I  stood  I  coul    see 

o^n«i  the  skv  A  click  followed,  as  tho  the 
;S;:rtdtL  on  an  empty  shell.  The.  was 
a  V  of  disappointn.enc,  and  the  gun-barrel  van- 
ish d  The  door  of  the  house  was  thrown  open ; 
we  could  hear  the  creak  of  the  hinges,  but  could  see 

nnthint?— it  was  too  dark. 

""^iant  Clancy,  who  stood  nearest  t^^, 

darted  up,  and  1  followed.  There  was  a  ciam- 
blh  rush  and  a  howl;  the  sergeant  Aew  backward 
down  the  steps,  crushing  n.e  nearly  to  the  bottom 


was  once  more 

u,  with  the   re- 

stragglevs  who 

(1    theio    behind 

I  sent  to  join  the 

lark   anil   silent, 
lad  been  hnrt,  it 

I  called  in  Span- 
reply,  I  repeated 

lirill  voice  at  last 
I  attempts  to  c^-me 

ntClancy,— "ora 
Dusly  showed  him- 
'  protruded  from  a 
stood  I  could  see  it 
owed,  as  tho  the 
shell.  There  was 
he  giui-barrel  van- 
was  thrown  open; 
luges,  but  could  see 

nearest  the  steps, 
here  was  a  scram- 
;oant  flew  backward 
learly  to  the  bottom 


FHANCISCO 

•u  hia  flight.     As  he  passed  into  the  moonlight  I 
saw  that  ho  was  doubled  over  the  head  of  a  goat-- 
a  male  goat  of  truly  pheno>uonal  si/e,  who  had  hit 
the  sergeant  exactly  on  th.>  belt,  doubling  hnu  up 
lil,o  a  foot-rule.     Hard  on  the  heels  of  ^  -e  goat 
ran  a  small  bov,  shrieking  encouragement  to  him 
and  defiance  to  us,  and  brandishing  a  huge  ma- 
chete     As  I  stepped  forward  he  raised  his  weapon 
and  aimed  a  fierce  cut  at  my  head.     Instinctively  I 
parried  the  stroke  with  my   sword,    at  the  same 
time  catching   his  wrist  with  my  left  hand  and 
passing  him  down  to  the  men  below  me.      1  ben  I 
had  time  to  look  around. 

Tlie  sergeant  l.y  gasping  on  the  gr.mnd,  and  the 
goat  was  cautiously  barking  off,  nodding  his  head, 
and  making  ready  for  another  blow.     Two  men, 
stepping  forward,  caught    his    horns.        1  hen   he 
reared,  plunged,   and  struggled.     One  of  the  men 
tripped  and  fell,  pulling  the  goat  and  the  other 
man  over  on  top  of  him.      In  an  instant  the  mixture 
of  legs,  horns,  aud  rifles  was  so  thorough  that  the 
eye  was  quite  unable  to  distinguish  which  portions 
belonged  together.     The  two  men  implored  help, 
but  their    comrades,  faint  with  laughter,  looked 
gleefully  on  and  did  not  stir. 

It  was  only  by  my  most  imperative  orders  that 
some  of  the  men  at  last  interfered  ami  brought  the 
billy-goat,  still  anxious  to  tight,  to  a  reluctant 
stand-just  as  the  first  sergeant  sat  up  and  looked 

87 


FRANnSCO 

about  him.  At  first  ho  api-eared  a  little  ctol; 
b  1 1  vo«e,  and.  still  pniling  fvon.  the  elie-t  of  .a 
blow,  ho  walke.l  over  to  the  boy  and  caught  huu 
l>v  the  collar  of  his  shirt. 

the  ,ra«lio..,  au.l  U.e  lic.y  "hook  !..»  1«»1.     T  e 

S  t  e  ear  ot  its  ,ve™v,  picked  up  the  ,.,»  .et 
o'the  Bro.nK.  whe,e  H  h.Ha«e,,    a,,    walke^^^ 
.  vn  thf^  stews       He  sat  down,  and,  la>uig  tne 

fli   side        the  machete  he  aduauistored  as  sound 
atpanldng  as  ever  a  boy  received  since  the  .or.d 

^'"T'beg  pardon,   lootiuint,"  he  said,  rising  and 
salu  ing  as  the  operation  was  finished;  "I  thought 
str   'Uvas  best  so.      'Twas  a  good  fight  he  put  up 
sorr'  an'  he  only  a  boy.     I  thought  that  -a>^e 
Wdu'tbenec'arytoarristhim.nththeoth- 

'' I'auite  agreed  with  the  sergeant.     Certainly  the 
bo    hid  auldy  enough  punishment  to  sat.  y  a^ 
reasonable  person,  and  I  willingly  agreed    hat  he 
shoXot  be  "  arristed."     1  turned  to  tell  huu  so-, 
Mt  he  had  apparently  come  to  the  same  conclu.  >n. 
Mall  events  he  l^ddisappe^^^^^^^^^^^  been  clouding, 
I'^or  some  minutes  tne  sK.y  "ii^       .     ,      ,     „., 
JiL  the  sudden  vaiu  of  those  latitudes  hegau 

38 


i 


little  dazefV, 
B  ell'ect  of  the 
1  caught  him 

iiat  house,  nie 
ody  translated 
head.     Then 
;he  shivt-coUar 
3   the  machete 
HI,  and  walked 
Did,  laying  the 
knee,  with  the 
itoved  as  sound 
since  tlie  world 

md,  rising  and 
ed ;  "  I  thought 
fight  he  put  up, 
rht  that  mayho 
a  with  the  oth- 

.  Certainly  the 
at  to  satisfy  any 
f  agreed  that  he 
;d  to  tell  him  so  •, 
samecouclus"  m. 

d  been  clouding, 
36  latitudes  begau 


FRANCISCO 

fa,  descend  in    sheets.      It  was  vci y    dai-k       The 
g:^;::round  the  prisoners  were  trebled  m^ 

L,    and,    hurriedly    lornnng    the    .onn.  n,      w 
splashed   homeward  along  the  road.       I  ho  wate 

1    red  thru  our  can,paign-hats,  and  we  wee  ^ak  d 
to  the  skin  in  an  instant.     T^ie  very  sound  of  ou 

1  1  Uv  tlif.  vo-ir  of  the  ram  as  it 

footsteps  was  drownc.l  by  the  u.ar  or 

beat  on  the  stiff  leaves  of  the  palm-trees  that  hned 
Ttnotmyturntotakereveineroll.allU>e 
„extmorning,and  I   slept  late      When  ^^^^^^^^^^ 
was  dressed  and  strolled  over  to  our     -^^      PO    -I 
u.ess-tent,  hungry  and  n,ore  than  --1)    -  b.  - 
fast   I  found  my  ubual  seat  on  one  of  the  bench,  s 

vhth  served  as  chairs  taken  up  by  what  appeaved 
;::^::alargelnmdleof  blankets,     .was  a^^^^^^^ 

tumble  it  to  the  ground  when  Brown,  m>    strv 

nut   caucht  my  arm.  . 

"legyer  P  nlon,  loot'nant,"  said  he  apo  oget. 
cally       'l  didn't  have  time  to  speak.     That's  .an- 

'""  He  leans  Sanfriseo,  sir,"  explained  Harkins 
the  captain's  "striker,"  who  was  present,  with  a 
look  of  pity  at  my  man.  i^i,„vp'?"I 

<^  Who  on  earth  is  Sanfnsco?  and  where?  I 
^sked  much  puzzled.  At  that  moment  the  bvuulle 
of  tuketsbcganto  squirm.  From.one  endahead 
ts:;:Sissi:ed,fonowedbytheb.^yl.lo^;;|^ 
to  it,  and  in  a  moment  the  boy  who  had   disap 

39 


rHANCISCO 


■; .! 


peared  the  night  before  voUed  on  to  the  ground  and 
Lran^bled  to  his  feet.  He  came  to  attention  and 
sah.ted  as  he  had  seen  the  men  do. 

"  It  is  I  seuor.  Francisco,  the  man  intended  to 
say,"  said' he,  looking  np  at  me.  He  had  a  smgu- 
ijly  attractive  face,  witli  the  largest  brown  eyes 
and  the  whitest  teeth  I  had  ever  seen.  Iho  he 
was  very  dark,  it  was  cpiite  evident  that  no  negro 
blood  Howed  in  his  veins. 

"  How  did  you  get  here?  "  I  impured. 
« I  wish  to  explain,  senor.     1  have  already  done 
so  to  the  other  officer,  Senor  el  Capitan,    he  an- 
swered, with  the  gravity  of  one  Spanish  grandee 
aMres^ing  another.     "  Last  night  I  found  it  neo- 
essary  to  defend  the  house.     Those  who  were  at- 
tacking were  my  countrymen,  and  the  ----^y 
wife  who  lived  in  the  house  wore  Spanish ;  but  they 
were  old  and  helpless,  and  had  been  good  to  me 
And  then    the    soldiers    came.     Ihey,     too,   aie 
against  the  Spanish,  and  I  therefore  continued  to 
fight.     When  1  found  that  they  had  come  to  pro- 
tect the  old  man  and  his  wife,  T  was  sorj,  but  I 
did  not  tell  you  so  at  that  time,  Heiior  el  Teniente 
for  you  would  have  said  that  I  was  afraid,      rhen 
I  came  here.     The  sentinel  turned  me  back,  but  1 
passed  him  when  he  was  looking  another  way,  and 

with  me  came  l?orinquen " 

"That's  his  goat,   sir,"  explained  Brown    who 
had  caught  the  name,  pointing  to  that  valiant  ani- 

40 


he  ground  ami 
atteuiiou  and 

m  intended  to 
e  had  a  singu- 
8t  brown  eyes 
seen.  I'ho  he 
that  no  negro 

lired. 

re  already  done 
apitan,"  he  an- 
panish  grandee 
I  found  it  nec- 
se  who  were  at- 
;he  man  and  his 
auish;  but  they 
een  good  to  me. 
They,     too,    are 
ne  continued  to 
lad  come  to  pro- 
fas  sor^y,  but  I 
?nor  el  Teniente, 
IS  afraid.     Then 
d  me  back,  but  I 
mother  way,  and 

ned  Brown,  who 
that  valiant  ani- 


FUANCIS<'0 

n.al,  who,  tied  to  the  .heel  of  a  wagon,  was  com- 
posedly copping  the  rich  grass. 
^    .This    morning,"    iM'ancsco   went    on,      the  e 

»n  met  me      They  took  me  before  Senor  el  (  ap- 
raen  met  me.  >  ^,^,i 

itan,  who  commanded  th.it  1 

fed  nnd  wrapped  up  as  you  saw  me.  1  ^  uly  t  ^^  as 
w  ;;  '  Tl  n  foi  the  lirst  tin.  I  notn-ed  hat 
Fa  Cisco  wore  a  pair  of  arn.y  trousers  and  a  1  an- 
LT  hkt  Uoth  the  sleevea  and  the  trousers-legs 
:erft:rned  up  until  there  was  little  of  then,  left, 

but  even  at  that  they  were  too  hmg.  ,. 

.'  What  do  you  intend  to  do  now,  F'^^^'^   «"  . 
I  ventured  to  inquire,  somewhat  appalled  bj    W.b 

'^^:fL  an  American,  senor,  and  it  is  P;.P^^^^^^^ 
I  should  become  a  sokUer  of  the  Ln>ted  M    ob^ 
intend  to  enlist  in  this  company,  -^J  J^   ^^  ^'« 

,1,0."     The  two  men  -^P-'^i^^^^^^f '  *  J^  f 
as  the  boy  finished,  and,  turmng  f  -  '  /  °^^^  ^^  ^;.^ 
That  Francisco  had  adopted  us  for  his  o  v  n,  theie 
eould  be  no  doubt.     He  nuule  that  fact  evuh.^^ 
.vith  a  calm  positiveness  that  was  all  his  o^^n. 
Evty  one  Uked  the  boy,  and  he  soon  becan.e  as 
tu  -h  a  part  of  the  haU-mUitary.  ^^^'^^^^ 
that  we\ed  in  that  out-of-the-way  place  a   to  he 
had  really  enlisted  in  the  company-as,  ui  truth, 
letC^^^^  he  had.     This  belief  on  his  part  wa 
due  \s  -e  afterward  discovered,  to  a  prank  on  the 
p  :;  of  lome  of  the  men,  who  had  put  him  thru  an 
^  41 


! 


FRANnsro 


II '1 


I 


"initiation  "  wiiidh  they  solemnly  assured  him  was 
the  regiihar  way  of  joiniiiy  tho  army.  AVe  also 
learned  that  the  pluek  with  which  the  hoy  had 
gone  thru  with  these  ordeals  contributed  largely  to 
his  popularity.  Among  the  firmest  of  Francisco's 
friends  was  the  first  sergeant.  For  the  boy's  sake 
he  even  tolerated  HnriMquen,  notwithstanding  the 
fact  that  this  redoubtable  animal  still  cherished  a 
grudge  against  his  ancient  foe,  and  never  missed  an 
opportunity  of  trying  to  repeat  the  exploit  of  their 
first  meeting.  He  never  succeeded,  however.  One 
such  affair  was  enough,  and  the  sergeant  wa.s 
wary. 

A  few  days  after  I'^aneiseo's  arrival  his  cup  of 
happiness  was  nearly  tilled,  for  he  appeared  in  full 
uniform,  cut  down  to  fit  him  by  the  company  tailor. 
Even  the  eanii)aign-hat  was  there;  but  as  it  was 
impossible  to  cut  that  down,  it  became  necessary 
to  stuff  paper  under  the  iinier  band  in  order  to 
make  it  small  enough.  This  gave  our  recruit  a 
somewhat  mushroom-like  appearance;  but  the  glit- 
tering brass  ornament  with  which  the  hat  was 
decorated  more  than  made  up  for  any  small  short- 
comings. After  this  he  fell  in  with  the  company 
at  all  roll-calls,  never  missing  one,  and  seemed  to 
learn  the  drill  almost  by  intuition.  Vet  there  was 
something  lacking.  He,  a  "  soldado  Americano," 
had  no  rifle.  Tho  he  fully  understood  that  the 
men  had  but  one  apiece,  and  that  therefore  there 

4d 


iM 


'  assured  him  was 
army.  "\Vo  also 
licli  the  hoy  had 
I'ibuted  largely  to 
Bst  of  Fraiit!i8('o's 
'or  tho  buy's  sake 
withstanding  the 
still  cherished  a 
i  never  missed  an 
le  exploit  of  their 
d,  however.  One 
;ho    sergeant  was 


irrival  liis  cup  of 
a  appeared  in  full 
e  company  tailor. 
re ;  but  as  it  was 
became  necessary 
band  in  order  to 
ive  our  recruit  a 
nee ;  but  the  glit- 
ich  the  hat  was 
any  small  short- 
,ith  the  company 
e,  and  seemed  to 
1.  Vet  there  was 
ado  Americano," 
lerstood  that  the 
it  therefore  there 


1>1 


!i 


ki 


FUANCISCO 


I 


s**^ 


■was  Jioiie  It'ftfor  him,  yet  it  tidul.io.l  him  iinthing 
less  I'lir  that. 

I'm-  sointi  (hiys  I'liuu-isco  studied  this  prohh-m, 
tlifii  Ik-  wfiit  !<•  till)  ciiiitaiii  mid  miucsted  tlirt-e 
days'  l.avo  of  iiliHfiice.     Tho  cjiptain  was  iimuH(>d; 

l''niiii'isco  was  ii  K'^'^t  fa^'"'''*'*'^  '''**'  *■'"'  '"'  ***'''•"'" 
sliowfd  it.  "Well,  {'"rancisco,"  said  he,  "from 
what  I  hiar,  yii  liave  been  taking  a  U:avo  of  ah- 
seiico  every  day,  yi't  this  is  tho  liist  time  yoii  have 
askt'd  me  fur  a  pass." 

"That  is  true,  seilor,"  ackiiowledged  the  hoy 
frankly  ;  "  but  then  I  needed  no  i)as.s.  1  went  by  the 
guard-house  in  tho  long  grass,  or  when  tho  scnl-inel 
was  not  1<    -ing.  just  as  the  other  soldiers  do." 

Here  aoiae  of  the  men  who  had  been  loitering 
about  to  hear  what  Francisco  had  to  say  left  hur- 
riedly,  imrsued  by  tho  subdued  chuckles  «d'  their 
couirailes. 

"Do  you  know  what  happens  to  the  other  sol- 
diers, aa  you  call  them,  when  they  try  to  nui  the 
guard?  "asked  the  captain,  trying  to  hide  a  smile. 

"  Truly  I  do,  senur.  They  are  juit  in  the  guard- 
h(m8e  and  made  to  work  at  unpleasant  tasks,"  re- 
plied    Francisco    composedly,    "when     they    are 

caught." 

"  Then,  Francisco,  why  should  I  not  do  the  same 

to  you?  " 

"  Hecaase,  sefior,  T  have  not  been  caught." 
"There's  unanswerable  logic  m  that,"  said  tho 
43 


FRANCISCO 

captain  to  me,  tmniiig  to  his  lield-dcsk  in  order 
to  write  out  a  pass.  "  I  don't  think  he  had  a  no- 
tion that  tlie  men  were  doing  anything  wrong  when 
tliey  ran  tlio  guard,  and  they  coiddn't  tell  him— 
he  don't  know  a  word  of  English.  Ho  fancied  it 
was  a  sort  of  game  between  them  and  the  ollicers." 
He  handed  the  pass  to  Francisco,  explaining  to 
him  at  the  same  time  the  nature  of  the  offense  of 
which  he  had  been  guiiiy.  The  way  that  Fran- 
cisco receive'^  the  explanation  was  ample  corrobo- 
ration of  the  captain's  theory.  Indeed,  the  look  of 
utter  contempt  which  he  cast  at  one  or  two  of  the 
men  known  to  have  offended  in  the  same  way  was 
proof  in  itself. 

Francisco  took  the  pass,  saluted,  and  making  an 
accurate  "  about  face,  "  departed  to  prepare  'or  his 
journey.  The  captain  watched  him  as  he  went. 
"  I  hesitated  at  iirst,"  said  he,  after  a  pause;  "but 
now,  do  you  know,  I'm  sure  that  it's  a  good  thing 
to  have  that  boy  about,  for  the  company  as  well  as 
for  him.  lie's  absolutely  honest.  Did  you  see 
how  uncomfortable  those  men  looked  when  he 
glanced  at  them?  And  some  of  the  others  are 
making  all  manner  of  fun  of  them  now— you  can 
see,  down  by  the  cook-hOuse,  there.  It  will  tend 
to  raise  the  standard.  It  won't  be  my  fault  if  it 
doesn't,  anyway." 

"  Nor  mine,"  said  1.     "I  wonder  what  he  want- 
ed to  go  away  for?     To  see  his  parents?  " 

44 


FRANtnSCO 


lield-dcsk  in  order 
think  he  liad  a  no- 
iVthiugwroug  when 
ouhln't  tell  him — 
ish.  lie  fancied  it 
u  and  the  oflicers.'" 
isco,  ■xplaining  to 
le  of  the  offense  of 
he  way  that  Fran- 
vas  ample  corrobo- 
Indeod,  the  look  of 
b  one  or  two  of  the 
I  the  same  way  was 

ted,  and  making  au 
d  to  prepare  'or  his 
(1  him  as  he  went, 
after  a  pause;  "but 
lat  it's  a  good  thing 
company  as  well  as 
nest.  Did  you  see 
>n  looked  when  he 
;  of  the  others  are 
■hem  now — you  can 
there.  It  will  tend 
.'t  be  my  fault  if  it 

3uder  what  he  want- 
3  parents?  " 


The  captain  started.  "  I  never  thought  to  ask 
him,"  said  he.  "  He  hasn't  any  parents,  and  no 
relatives ;  I  found  that  out  days  ago.  lUit  he'll  be 
back  at  the  end  of  the  three  days,  lie  said  ho 
woidd,  and  ho  will." 

PART   II. 

Duinxc.  the  time  that  Francisco  was  gone  there 
was  considerable  siieculation  among  the  men  as  to 
where  he  was  and  whether  or  not  he  would  return. 
That  he  fully  intended  to  return  I  never  had  a 
moment's  doubt;  but  as  the  time  drew  near  I  be- 
gan to  be  trouble!  for  fear  something  had  happened 
to  him.  We  had  no  idea  where  he  was;  the  mo- 
ment he  passed  the  guard-house  he  seemed  to  have 
vanished  into  thin  air. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day  the  captain 
was  absent,  and  I,  therefore,  in  command.  I  was 
sitting  at  the  door  of  my  tent  when  the  first  ser- 
geant came  up.     "  Well?  "  I  inquired. 

"The  kid,  sorr.  Fran— San-Fran— Sanfran- 
cisco,    sorr.      He's  come  back.       An'   he's  got  a 

goon."  ,j 

"  Got  a  gun?     Where  on  earth  did  he  get  it? 
"  I  dunno,  s.n'r,  but  he's  got  it,  an'  a  belt  too. 
He's  in  my  tent  now,  clanin'  himself  to  come  an' 
report.      Here   he    is."     The    sergeant  fell   back 
with  a  grin  that  was  stopped  only  by  his  ears  as 

45 


FKANCISCO 


Franscisco,  liis  miifoiiu  spotlessly  neat,  issued 
from  tlie  tent.  Over  his  slmuUler  was  a  cavalry 
carbine,  and  a  eartridye-beU,  encircled  his  waist. 
15ut  it  was  not  a  belt  such  as  our  soldiers  used;  1 
noticed  that  instantly.  He  came  to  the  tent  door, 
iialLed,  and  saluted,  Init  this  time  he  made  the 
rifle  salute. 

"  I  have  returned,  Senor  el  Teniente, "  said  he. 
"It  was  necessary  that  I  should  have  a  riHe,  and 
so  1  went  and  got  one." 

"  So  I  see,  Francisco ;  but  where  did  you  get  if.' "' 

T  asked. 

"  Senor,  T  took  it  from  the  enemy.  Their  guard 
is  not  strict  when  it  sees  boys  like  me,  there  are 
so  many  boys,  and  1  had  taken  off  my  uniform.  I 
chose  the  rifle  of  the  cavalry,  for  it  is  shorter  than 
the  others,  and  T  am  small.  Two  lielts  T  brouglit, 
both  of  them  full.  The  other  is  now  in  the  tent  of 
El  Sargento  Clan-cee." 

"  What  i.o  that  he  says,  sorr?  "  asked  the  ser. 
geant.  T  translated,  and  he  looked  amazed,  as 
well  he  might.  It  was  rather  stui>endous,  this  feat 
of  Francisco' s.  The  Spanish  lines  were  about  eigh- 
teen miles  away,  and  this  boy  in  some  way  had 
l)assed  their  guards,  made  his  way  to  a  camp  of 
cavalry  or  artillery,  got  liis  rifle  and  two  belts,  and 
then  returned-and  all  in  something  under  three 

days. 

"  1  think  you  can  not  know  what  the  Sjiamards 
46 


FRANCISCO 


sly  neat,  issued 
er  was  a  cavalry 
•irclfil  his  waist, 
soldiers  iisfd ;  1 
to  the  tent  doov, 
mo  he  made   the 

■niente,"  said  he. 
have  a  riHe,  and 

6  did  you  get  it?" 

my.  Their  guard 
ike  me,  there  are 
ff  my  uniform.  I 
'  it  is  shorter  than 
0  V)elts  T  brouglit, 
now  in  the  tout  of 

' "  asked  the  ser- 
ooki'd  amazed,  as 
il)endous,  this  feat 
es  were  about  eigh- 
in  some  way  had 
way  to  a  camp  ot 
and  two  bolts,  and 
thing  under  tln-ee 

?hat  the  Spaniards 


would  have  done  to  you  if  they  had  cauglit  you," 
I  said  severely. 

"Yes,  senor,  they  would  have  killed  nie,"  he 
cahuly  replied.  And  there  is  no  doubt  but  what 
they  would  have  done  so.  I  took  the  carbine  from 
him  and  inspected  it.  Sure  enough,  it  was  a 
Mauser,  such  as  the  Spanish  use,  and  diilering  in 
several  important  details  from  our  Krug-J()rgeiisen. 
The  belt,  too,  as  1  had  noticed  before,  had  not 
loops  for  single  cartridges  like  ours,  but  pockets 
for  groups  of  five,  held  together  in  their  tin  clips. 

I  returned  the  rifle  to  Francisco  and  dismissed 
him.  I  was  somewhat  in  doubt  at  first  as  to  what 
to  do  about  the  case,  yet,  when  I  came  to  think 
al)out  it,  there  was  no  good  reason  that  1  could  see 
why  I  should  take  from  the  boy  his  hard-earned 
prize.  Certainly  I  had  lui  right  to  return  captured 
arms  to  the  enemy,  and  no  orders  had  been  issued 
from  headquarters  as  to  the  disposition  of  such 
weapons.  In  fact,  as  far  as  T  know,  this  rifle  was 
the  flrst  one  to  be  cai)tured  in  I'uerto  Rico.  Time 
enough  to  be  thinking  about  taking  it  away  from 
I'-rancisco  when  such  orders  should  be  issued.  So 
r  left  it  all  to  the  captain,  ami  when  he  returned  he 
decided  as  I  had  done. 

Sergeant  Clancy  repeated  with  full  detail  iM-an- 
cisco's  exploit  to  the  other  men,  and  many  of  them 
were  very  much  inclined  to  nuike  a  hero  of  the  boy  ; 
but  of  that  ho  knew  little,  not  understanding  the 

47 


FTiANCISCO 

language,  and  p/obal-ly  caring  less      To  hhu  the 
i,n 'ortLt  thing  was  that  he  now  had  Ins  v.fle,  and 
conld  fall  in  with  the  others  at  dnll,  as,  m  spite 
of  his  fatigue,   he  did  that  very  afternoon.         is 
observations  of  the  drills  had  been  ch.se,  and  this 
now  helped  him,  so  that  his  p    /onu.nce  was  ex- 
ceedingly creditable.     It  was  so  creditable,  indeed 
that  the  tir.t  sergeant  took  occasion,  when  I  had 
left  him  to  dismiss  the  men,  of  holding  Irancisco 
up  as  an  example  to  be  followed  by  the  company.  ^ 
"  If  anny  av  you  men  happened  to  be  breakm 
reg'lations  by   squintin'    to  wan  side  dnnn    the 
dhvill,"    said  he,  '•!  wondher   that  ye   were   not 
'shamed  when  ye  saw  that  boy.      I'm  not  sayin 
that  ye  did  so  badly,  but  this  is  A-.s  hrst  dhrill, 
an'  T  don't  think  ther'a  wan  av  you  that  can  beat 
him,  even  so.     Portar-rms!     Dismissed!     But  all 
the  same,"  he  went  on,  speaking  in  a  lower    one 
and  addressing  Fransciseo,  "  when  you've  had  as 
much  av  this  sort  of  thing  as  the  other  boys  have 
von'll  not  be  so  keen  on  it,  I'm  thinkin  ,  me  son 

iM-ancisco,  not  understanding  a  word,  only 
grinned  and  saluted  by  ^vay  of  answer,  and  ran  to 
wrap  up  his  precious  rifle  and  safely  deposit  it  m 
one  of  the  tents  before  untying  15onnquen. 

Whenever  Fran.isco  was  not  engaged  in  duties, 
military  or  otherwise,  where  a  goat  would  be  quite 
impossible,  he  and  Borinquen  were  nearly  always 
together.     Indeed,  orders  had  been  issued  to  that 

48 


j.     To  him  the 
atl  his  rifle,  and 
rill,  as,  ill  spite 
afternoon.      His 
1  close,  and  this 
)rniance  was  ex- 
editable,  indeed, 
ion,  when  I  had 
olding  Francisco 
ly  the  company. 
a  to  be  breakiu' 
side  durin'  the 
hat  ye   were   not 
I'm  not  say  in' 
s  ///,s  tirst  dhnll, 
yo\i  that  can  beat 
smiftsed!     l'>ut  all 
^  in  a  lower  tone 
en  you've  had  as 
e  other  boys  have 
thinkin',  me  son." 
ig    a    word,    only 
answer,  and  ran  to 
safely  deposit  it  m 
lUirinquen. 
engaged  in  duties, 
;oat  would  be  quite 
,vere  nearly  always 
been  issued  to  that 


FRANCISCO 

effect  ■  that  when  Francisco  was  not  with  him  Bo- 
rinouen  was  to  be  tied.  Tins  happened  when, 
one'day,  I  found  that  ■  rthy  aniuuil  lyuig  on  my 
cot,  eating  with  every  appearance  of  relish  a  cour'- 
martial  report  which  I  had  just  finished  copying. 
Borin(iuen  left  my  tent  with  some  rapidity,  just 
missing,  as  he  went,  one  of  tlie  men  who  had  come 
to  complain  of  a  grievance  similar  to  mine. 

"I'd  just  waslied  a  pair  o'    stockm's,  sir,  an 
hung  'em  out,-  he  said,  "an'  found  this  here  ^uat, 
sir    iust  finishin'  one  of  'em  an'  gettiii'  ready  to 
commence  on  the  other.     When  I  hollered  at  him 
he  just  wagged  his  whiskers  at  me  an'  then  bunted 
me  over."     This  act  on  the  part  of  Borinquen,  the 
man  hastened  to  explain,  was  all  dune  in  a  playful 
and  thoroughly  friendly  spirit;  still,  the  (luarter- 
master's   department  didn't   iesue  stockings  with 
any  intention  of  having  them  f..l  to  goats.     And 
it  isn't  pleasant  to  1)6  bunted  over,  either. 

When  in  the  company  of  his  master,  however, 
Borincpien  was  as  liarmless  as  possible ;  but  as  time 
went  on  he  had  less  and  less  of  this  eompany,  and 
at  last,  when  in  the  camp,  he  was  nearly  always 
tied      Francisco  was  busy  about  things  in  whieli 
the  goat  could  not  assist.      He  took  to  doing  little 
odd  jobs  for  the  men— washing  their  tin  plates, 
running  errands,  and  the  like.      !■  or  each  of  these 
services  they  would  offer  him  two  or  three  of  the 
enormous  coppers  of  Puerto  Rico,  which  lie  accept- 
4  ^^ 


Jk  A 


FRANCISCO 

ed  with  evident  reluctauce— but  which,  neverthe- 
less, he  did  accept. 

Francisco's  daily  absences  continued,     lie  never 
ran  the  guard  after  he  had  promised  not  tc,  but  the 
captain,  tired  of  daily  tilling  out  u  pass  for  the  boy, 
had  given  him  one  "  good  until  revoked."      A.rmed 
with  this,  ho  would  lit  a  pair  of  small  saddle-bags, 
luauufacturod  by  himself,  on  the  back  of    Horin- 
(juen,  and  the  two  would  vanish  and  bo  gone  for 
hours.     The  pennies  earned  by  rran(nsco  appar- 
ently went  with  him  on  these  expeditions,  but  he 
never  seemed  to  spi'ud  any  of  them.     Francisco's 
money  got  to  be  a  joke  in  t-.e  company.      Some  of 
the  men  who  co^dd  speak  a  little  Spanish  would 
ask  him  what  interest  he  would  charge  in  lending 
a  large  sum ;  or  talk  of  waiting  fur  a  dark  night 
and  tlien  robl)ing  him.     The  boy  really  seemed  to 
get  money  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  hoard  it. 
He  worked  harder  and  harder ;  and  at  last  he  be- 
gan to  neglect  somewhat  the  appearance  of  mili- 
tary neatness  and  the  duties  of  which  he  was  so 
proud.     Then   I  began  to  feel  a  regretful  disap- 
pointment in   Francisco,  and  so,  I  know,  did  the 
captain.     But  worse  was  to  follow. 

That  food  had  in  a  mysterious  manner  been  dis- 
appearing from  our  commissary  tent  was  beyond 
(piestion.  For  weeks  the  cooks  had  been  complain- 
ing of  it,  and  Peterson,  the  melancholy  Swedish 
sergeant  in  charge  of  our  food  supplies,  had  vainly 

60 


;  which,  neverthe- 

;inued.     lie  never 
sed  not  tc,  but  the 
!i  pass  for  the  boy, 
■evokod. "      Armed 
Hinall  saddle-bags, 
le  back  of    Boiiu- 
li  and  be  gone  for 
'  Fraupisco  appar- 
ixpeditions,  but  he 
;hem.     Francisco's 
ouipauy.     Some  of 
tie  Spanish  would 

charge  in  lending 
,'  fur  a  dark  night 
)y  really  seemed  to 
I  than  to  hoard  it. 
and  at  last  he  be- 
ippearance  of  mili- 
)f  which  he  was  so 

a  regretful  disap- 
o,  I  know,  did  the 
low. 

13  manner  been  dis- 
ry  tent  was  beyond 

had  been  complain- 
nelancholy  Swedish 
supplies,  had  vainly 


FRANCISCO 

laid  trap  after  trap  to  catch  the  thief.  Short  ra- 
tions, to  mm  in  the  field,  is  not  a  joking  matter. 
Various  theories,  all  of  them  absurd,  as  to  the 
identity  of  tlie  guilty  one  were  advanced,  and  each 
man  looked  on  his  neighbor  with  suspicion,  but  to 
no  avail.  Then  a  faint  rumor  that  Francisco  was 
suspected  came  to  our  ears. 

The  captain  disbelieved  this  story  utterly;  so 
did  I ;  and  when  Sergeant  Clancy  was  called  in  and 
(piestioned  he  agreed  with  us.  The  commissary 
tent  was  rigidly  guarded,  and  even  if  Francisco 
could  have  slipjied  by  the  sentinels  lie  would  hard- 
ly be  able  to  obtain  duplicate  keys  of  the  chests  in 
which  the  different  kinds  of  provisions  were  kept. 
And  then  stealing  was  the  last  thing  of  which  one 
Avould  suspect  Francisco. 

Still,  the  suspicion  grew.  Two  of  the  men 
watched  him,  one  day,  as  he  and  the  goat  passed 
up  the  road,  and  noticed  that  the  little  saddle-bags 
were  as  full  as  they  could  hold.  When  the  pair 
returned  the  bags  were  empty.  The  next  day  they 
watched  Francisco  again,  and  this  time  they  ar- 
rested him. 

The  captain  was  sitting  in  the  shade  of  his  tent- 
fly  veranda,  and  I  was  within,  writing  at  his  desk, 
when  1  heard  him  exclaim  and  rise  suddenly  from 
his  chair.     Suspecting  something  wrong,  I  stepped 

outside. 

Guarded  on  each  side  by  their  captors,  Francisco 
51 


JiNV. 


FKANnsro 

and  Boriiiquen  were  coming  up  tlie  rompaTiy  streot 
as  prisoners.  Behind  them  walked  Sergeant^.  1  e- 
tersen  and  Claney-the  lirst  stolid  and  to  all  ap- 
,,earan.n.s  indifferent,  the  latter  with  a  look  ..f  rf^il 
concern  on  liis  honest  Irish  fa.e.  Two  of  the 
three  cooks  followed  them  eh^sely,  and  a  httl.^  back 
of  the  cooks  most  of  the  canpany  came  hesitatingly 
forward   and  halted  at  a  little  distance  from  the 

captain's  tent. 

"Well     sergeant,    what  does  this  mean.'       de- 
nian.U^d  the  c-aptain,  tho  he  perfectly  well  knew. 

"  I'm  afraid  it  looks  bad,  sorr,"  said  Clancy,  sor- 
rowfully shaking  his  head.     "  These  men  here  say 
that  tlu.y  ..aught  the  lad.   here,  Fran-Sanfnsco, 
red-handed,  like,  with  the  grub.     Hitchcock!    Dal- 
ton'"      The  two  men  stepped  forward  and  told 
frankly,  J  )t  with  evident  regro-t,  the  story  of  Fran- 
cisco's capture.     It  had  been  planned  to  prove  his 
innocence  rather  than  his  guilt,  one  of  the  men 
explained,   and,  I    for   one,    believed  hun  readily 
enough       Then  Boriu.pien  was  brought  forwanl, 
and  the  hardtack,  bacon,  and  dour  that  his  saddle- 
bags contained  were  piled  at  the  captain  s  feet. 
There  was  no  wav  in  which  the  boy  could  legitu 
mately  have    obtained  these    thngs.       The  proof 
against  him  seemed  painfully  complete. 

"  Have  you  anything  to  say,  Seigeant  Petersen? 

asked  the  cai)tain. 

"No,    saer,"    answered   the    Swede,     saluting. 
52 


i 

u. 

I 


!  company  streot 
d  Sergeants  I'e- 
I  ill  1(1  to  all  ap- 
,th  a  lo()l\  of  real 
3.  Two  of  the 
and  a  littl.'  buck 
^aiiie  hesitatingly 
istance  from  the 

,his  mean'"'    de- 
I'tly  well  knew. 
'  said  Clancy,  sor- 
lese  men  here  say 
Frau— Sanfrisco, 
Hitchcock!    Dal- 
forward  and  told 
the  story  of  Fran- 
mned  to  prove  his 
,  one  of  the  men 
icved  him  readily 
1  ronght  forward, 
ur  that  his  saddle- 
lie  captain's  feet. 
>  boy  could  legiti- 
i.ngs.       The  proof 
oinplete. 
ngeant  Petersen?" 

Swede,     saluting. 


It 


i 


Francisco  and   Bonnquen  were  com.,.s  "P  "  P"'""«'* 


* 


FRANCISCO 


1 


« 'Cept  ah  iil-wiiys  tank   .lat,  lio  was  a  j,'«jao  lH>y, 
aiul  ah  kiiula  tanks  so  yat't." 

IiivoUiutarilv  lowering  his  voice  soiuowhat,  the 
captain  called'  for  Francisco.  The  la.l,  in  spito 
of  his  iKUoranco  of  F..j,'lish,  evidently  understcK)d 
something  of  what  was  going  on.  His  dark  skm 
had  turned  v.>ry  pale,  and  he  was  trenibhng  as  ho 
stepped  up  to  the  tcut-fly  and  saluted. 

"Francisco."  said  the  captain  gravely,  "you 
have  been  found  with  these  goods  in  your  posses- 
sion, and  you  are  accused  of  stealing  them.  What 
have  you  to  say?  " 

"  I  am  no  thief,  senor.  I  am  a  soldier.  I  have 
st(den  nothing,"  he  replied,  with  a  little  catch  in 
his  breath.  A  big  tear  rolled  slowly  down  his 
cheek,  and  another  chased  it.  He  started  to  raise 
his  hand  to  wipe  them  away,  but  discipline  pre- 
vailed, r.ethinking  himself,  he  dropped  the  hand 
to  his  side,  and  continued  to  stand  at  "attention." 
"  Where  did  you  get  that  food,  then?  "  asked  the 
captain  severely.      "And  to  whom  did  you  sell 

it?" 

"  I  sold  it  to  no  one.  And  I  did  not  steal  it. 
I  bought  it.  Do  you  think  I  would  steal,  senor? 
I  bought  it  with  the  money  I  earned.  The  old 
raan-the  Spaniard-is  now  in  bed,  and  can  not 
rise,  he  is  so  ill.  15ut  for  this  food  ho  would  have 
starved."  Francisco's  voice  became  more  and 
more  shaky.     To  him  the  captain  was  the  mo-it  cj;- 

,13 


FUAXt'ISCO 


altt'il  boiuK  "H  •'•'iitli  "lie  who  must  be  obeyed  even 
\)y  the  voiuaated  tirHt  ser^eiiiit.  That  such  u  be- 
ing Hh..ul(l  thmk  that  ho.  Francisco,  coiihl  steal  Nvas 
t(K)  mudi.  Tor  a  time  he  9tni-;4h'<l  a;,'aiiist  the 
tears  tliat  would  cumc,  but  it  was  of  lu.  use.  Witli 
IV.rirKiuen  lockiiiK'  on  in  ^'rave  reproof,  he  sank  ni  a 
little  ht-ai)  on  the  ground  and  sobbed  jiist  as  tho 
he  were  a  small  boy,  much  hurt  ami  grieved,  and 
nut  a  soldier  at  all. 

"  From  whom  did  you  buy  this  food? "  asked 
the  captain,  more  gently. 

"That  I  nuist  not  say,  sefior.  I  i)romisod  not 
to,"  Francisco  numaged  to  reply.  "  He  is  ill  and 
can  not  eat  his  rations,  and  therefore  sells  them  to 
uie.  He  needs  medicine,  he  says,  that  the  aoldier- 
suvgeon  has  not  got,  and  it  is  for  this  that   Ho- 

iiays ."     Inadvertently  Francisco  had  evidently 

divulged  the  name  he  bad  promised  to  keep  secret, 
and  he  glanced  up  in  dismay. 

The  captain  looked  pu/./led,  and  translated  Fran- 
cisco's rci)ly  to  the  tirst  sergeant. 

'•Honays,    Honays,"    repeated    Clancy.      "No 
man  av  that  name  in  the  coiu])'ny,  sorr." 
The  captain  was  already  aware  of  that  fact. 
"I  tank  it  might  be  ('hones  he  means,  saer," 
suggested    Sergeant    Petersen    respectfully.^     "H 
wade  be  br-ronounced  dat  way  in  Spaenish." 

"  An'  Jones  it  is!  "  ejaculated  the  tirst  sergeant, 
as  tho  to  himself.     "  Rum-the  kind  they  makes 

04 


I- 


i)e  obeyed  even 
lat  8uch  a  b»i- 
C()\il(l  steal  was 
I'll  aKiiii'st  the 
IK)  use.  Witli 
)f,  he  sank  in  a 
)e(l  just  as  thd 
(I  ),'rit've(l,  and 

food?"  asked 

[  iironiised  not 
"  He  is  ill  and 
re  sells  them  to 
hat  tlie  soldier- 
this  that   Ho- 

0  had  evidently 

1  to  keep  secret, 

translated  Fran- 
Clancy.  "  No 
sow." 

3f  that  fact. 

le  means,  saer," 

spertfiilly.     "It 

•iiuienish." 

le  tirst  sergeant, 

Lind  they  makes 


FiiANnsco 

around  hore-is  the  kind  o'  u.rd'nne  h«  was  a- 

talliin'  about."  ,     ,  .    i      ii^ 

"He's  the  third   man   of   tho   cook  detail.      Mo 
has  access  to  tho  connuissary  stores,"  obsorvcl  th« 
cantain  to  me.     Sergeant  CUancy  was  sUmdmg  hke 
a  dug  that  strains  at  ,ts  chain.     The  captam  nod- 
,le.l    and  ho  darted  down  the  company  street,  en- 
tering the  last  tent  on  tho  right-band  s.de      Ho 
enuMged   in   a   munu-nt.      With    one  baud  he  led 
Junes  by  tho  ear,  an.l  carried  in  tho  other  a  bottle 
half  full  of  tho  most  malignant  rum  that  I'uerto 
Kico  could  produce. 

Jones  bad  evidently  taken  several  largo  doses 
of  his  niedicine.  Tnuer  the  captau.'s  searclnng 
questions  he  hositate.l,  stammered,  contradicted 
himself,  and  finally,  in  trying  to  mend  matters,  re- 
vealed enough  to  convict  bi.u  a  dozen  times  over. 
Then  tho  captain  made  a  little  speech  to  .fones-a 
speech  such  as  few  men  would  care  to  have  made 
to  them-and  then  ho  was  led  away,  amid  the  hal  - 
suppressed  hooting  of  his  comrades,  to  the  guaril- 

house.  ,  ,    ,        If 

The  captain  sat  down  at  his  tield-desk  and  for  a 
few  minntes  busied  himself  in  making  some  notes 
for  the  formal  charges  which  ho  intended  to  draw 
against  Jones  and  hand  in  to  the  general  court- 
„,artial  then  sitting,  dones  had  been  guilty  of  two 
serious  offenses:  theft  and  bringing  li-juor  into 
the  camp.     The  captain  meant  that  he  should  be 

55 


FRANriSCO 

punished  for  both  to  the  full  extent  of  the  military- 
law.  The  bringing  of  Francisco  into  the  affair 
added  aa  element  of  meanness  to  it  that  the  captain 
would  not  forgive. 

At  last  the  captain  paused  and  looked  around 
the  corner  of  his  desk.  "  Francisco !  "  he  said  sud- 
denly. The  boy,  who  had  not  changed  his  posi- 
tion, obediently  scrambled  to  his  feet,  stood  at  at- 
tention, and  saluted.  "  It  is  not  proper  for  a  sol- 
dier to  cry  like  that,"  the  captain  went  on.  " Go, 
eat  your  supper  and  get  a  good  night's  rest,  for 
to-morrow  you  will  be  detailed  for  guard." 

Francisco's  face  was  beaming  as  he  saluted  and 
retired.  A  tour  of  guard  duty  is  not  regarded  by 
most  soldiers  as  a  thing  to  be  desired— quite  the 
reverse,  in  fact ;  but  with  Francisco  it  was  differ- 
ent. To  hiui  it  was  an  honor  which  he  had  long 
coveted,  and  which  was  now  for  the  first  time  ac- 
corded him. 

"  You  see,  there's  really  no  further  use  for  that 
sentry  by  the  commissary  tent  now,"  the  captain 
explained  to  me.  "  I  was  going  to  leave  that  post 
out  of  the  detail  for  to-morrow ;  but  if  Francisco 
can  get  any  pleasure  out  of  that  particular  spot 
it's  only  fair  that  he  should  have  all  there  is,  after 
what  he's  been  through  to-day." 

Sei'^eaut  Clancy  declared  that  when  Francisco 
came  down  the  company  street  after  leaving  the 
captain  he  had  grown  a  full  inch.      Francisco's 

5U 


r 


FRANCISCO 


;  of  the  military 
into  the  affair 
that  the  captain 

looked  around 
) !  "  he  said  sud- 
anged  his  posi- 
eet,  stood  at  at- 
)roper  for  a  sol- 
went  on.  "Go, 
light's  rest,  for 
guard." 

he  saluted  and 
not  regarded  by 
sired — quite  the 
CO  it  was  differ- 
ch  he  had  long 
he  tirst  time  ae- 
ther use  for  that 
)\v,"  the  captain 
3  leave  that  post 
but  if  Francisco 
;  particular  spot 
all  there  is,  after 

when  Francisco 
ifter  leaving  the 
(.h.      Francisco's 


thorough  vir.dication  pleased  the  sergeant— and  in- 
deed the  company  as  a  whole-almost  as  much  as  it 
did  the  boy  himself.     The  men  also  sympathized 
with  his  pleasure  in  this  now  honor  which  had  been 
offered  him,  but  they  did  not  show  it.     It  was  not 
their  way.     Instead,  they  began  to  tease  him  about 
his  crying,  calling  him  a  baby,  and  exjiressing  many 
doubts  as  to  whether  or  not  he  had  sufficient  cour- 
age for  a  sentinel.     Sui.pose  a  littlo  girl,  armed 
with  a  stick,    should  try  to  break  into  the  store 
tent.      What  would  Francisco  do  then?      Would 
he  have  enough  presence  of  mind,  did  he  think,  to 
call  for  the  corporal  of  the  guard? 

For  that  night,  however,  Francisco's  happiness 
was  proof  against  all  such  taunts.  He  made  no 
answer  when  they  were  ti-anslated  to  him,  but  bus- 
ied himself  in  cleaning  still  more  his  already 
immaculate  equipment  until  the  sweet  notes  of 
"  taps  "  sung  all  the  men  to  their  blankets. 

The  next  morning,  when  the  galloping  guard- 
mount  call  blew,  Francisco  was  the  first  to  re- 
spond. None  of  the  men  moved  with  such  mathe- 
matical accuracy  as  he.  They  were  all  neat,  as 
the  regulations  require,  but  no  buttons  were  so 
brilliant,  no  uniform  so  thoroughly  brushed,  no 
boots  so  well  polished,  and  no  rifle  so  speckless  as 
the  buttons,  clothes,  and  cavalry  carbine  of  Fran- 


cisco 


The  non-commissioned  officers  of  the  guard  could 
57 


FRANCISCO 


speak  no  Spanish,  and  so  I  gave  Francisco  the 
special  ordero  relating  to  his  post.  They  were 
very  simple.  1  said,  merely,  that  no  person  whom- 
soever should  be  allowed  to  enter  the  store  tent. 
That  was  careless  of  me;  I  should  have  said  "no 
unauthorized  person." 

What  followed  was  therefore  my  fault.  From 
iiiy  tent  I  heard  loud  voices  near  Francisco's  post. 
Then  I  heard  him  call  for  the  corporal  of  the 
guard— he  knew  English  enough  to  do  that— and 
the  corporal  came,  adding  another  voice  to  the 
chorus.  Most  of  the  men  seemed  to  have  an  idea 
that  Francisco  could  understand  them  if  they  only 
talked  loud  enough. 

A  moment  later  the  corporal  appeared  at  the 
door  of  my  tent,  and  said  that,  tho  he  was  sorry  to 
trouble  me,  yet  he  thought  I  would  have  to  go 
down  and  speak  to  the  sentry  on  Fost  No.  8,^  who 
had  "somehow  got  his  orders  mixed,  sir."  I 
went,  and,  breaking  through  a  circle  of  grinning 
men,  I  found  an  indignant  chief  cook  standing  ni 
front  of  a  rifle  held  by  a  small  boy,  who  sternly  re- 
fused to  allow  "  any  person  whomsoever  "  to  enter 
the  tent  in  order  to  get  the  bacon,  beans,  and  flour 
for  the  dinner  of  the  men. 

There  was  not  much  trouble  in  straightening  out 
the  affair.  I  explained  to  Francisco  what  his 
orders  should  have  been,  and  pacitied  the  cook. 
After  all,  there  was  plenty  of  time  before  dinner 

68 


V 


I 


1 


e  Francisco  the 
St.  They  were 
no  person  whom- 
:  the  store  tent, 
l  have  said  "  no 

ny  fault.  From 
Francisco's  post, 
corporal  of  the 
to  do  that — and 
ler  voice  to  the 
i  to  have  an  idea 
hem  if  they  only 

appeared  at  the 

0  he  was  sorry  to 
ould  have  to  go 

Post  No.  8,  -who 
mixed,  sir."  I 
jircle  of  grinning 
cook  standing  in 
y,  who  sternly  re- 
nsoever  "  to  enter 
1,  beans,  and  flour 

1  straightening  out 
:ancisi!o  what  his 
mcitied  the  cook. 
;ime  before  dinner 


FRANCISCO 

need  be  ready.     When   I  returned  to  my  tent  I 
found  the  captain  waiting  there  for  me. 

"  I'm  afraid  I'll  have  to  g.'t  you  to  go  up  and  see 
that  old  Spanish  couple  that  Francisco  was  talking 
about,"  said  he,  as  I  came  up.  "1  believe  his 
storv,  of  course,  but  it's  only  common  justice  tliat 
it  si.ould  be  verified.  Take  twenty  men  and  put 
them  in  two  wagons,  and  go  on  horseback  yourself. 
That'll  save  time.  The  doctor  can  go  m  the  am- 
bulance.'' 

"The  doctor?"  I  repeated. 
"Yes,  the  doctor,"  said  the  captain  irritably. 
"You  can't  tell  but  what  those  people  have  some- 
thing contagious  that'll  endanger  the  men.  And 
take  some  food  from  our  mess.  They  may  be 
starving,  for  all  you  know."  He  almost  slunk 
away  as  he  finished  speaking.  The  captain  was 
one  of  those  men  who  are  always  ashamed  when 
they  are  caught  doing  a  kindness  for  any  one. 
And  he  was  forever  being  caught. 

In  an  army  post  there  is  little  time  wasted  m 
saddling  and  harnessing,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the 
two  wagons  and  the  ambulance  were  on  their  way 
to  the  hacienda  where  we  had  first  seen  Francisco 
There  was  no  need  to  verify  the  story-it  verified 
itself;  we  saw  that  as  soon  as  we  arrived.  The 
old  Spaniard  was  lying  on  a  pile  of  straw-the 
only  bed  left  to  him-utterly  helpless  from  rheu- 
matism, tended  by  his  wife,  who  was  hardly  less 

59 


FRANCISCO 

helpless  than  he  jroin  the  terrible  "  dolor  de  caheza  " 
— tha  headache— til  at  comes  in  that  country  from 
insufficient  food,  and  which  never  leaves  its  vic- 
tims while   life  remains.     Francisco' h  gifts  were 
all  the  two  old  people  had  to  live  upon.     Even  the 
little  presents  of  live  stock  that  the  men  had  ,r;iveu 
him   from  time  to  time— chickens,  ducks,   and  a 
turkey— were  all  there,  each  one  neatly  tethered 
by  one  leg  to  a  peg  driven  in  the  ground  in  order 
that  the  creature  might  more  easily  bo  caught  by 
the  feeble  hands  of  the  old  woman. 

When  we  were  going  away  I  rather  think  the 
men  left  the  old  couple  most  of  the  remnants  of 
their  scanty  pay.  The  good-natured  doctor  shook 
his  head  when  we  got  outside  the  house. 

"There's  very  little  for  mo  to  do,"  said  he. 
"I'll  try  and  get  the  man  into  a  hospital  and  see 
that  they  both  have  food,  and  that's  about  all." 

What  the  doctor  said  to  the  captain  about  Fran- 
cisco T  did  not  hear,  but  it  must  have  been  very 
high  praise  indeed.  "Ho  couldn't  say  enough 
about  what  the  boy  did  lor  that  Spaniard  and  his 
wife,"  said  the  captain  tg  me  aft^^rward.  "You 
may  remember  that  I  said  from  the  ilrst  that  he 
was  a  good  boy.  But  I  didn't  think  there  was  a 
sneak  in  the  company  such  as  this  man  Jones  has 
trrned  out  to  be.  Well,  at  any  rate  he  won't 
trouble  us  any  more  for  some  time  to  come." 


60 


I 


t\' 


FRANCISCO 


dolor  tie  caheza  " 
lat  country  from 
r  leaves  ils  vic- 
sco'.s  gifts  were 
upon.     Even  the 
le  men  had  ,r;iveu 
IS,  ducks,   and  a 
«  neatly  tethered 
!  ground  in  ordei' 
jily  be  caught  by 
11. 
rather  think  the 

the  remnants  of 
ired  doctor  shook 
1  house, 
to  do,"  said   he. 

hospital  and  see 
at's  about  all." 
ptain  about  Fran- 
it  have  been  very 
.dn't  say  enough 
Spaniard  and  his 
\ft--rward.     "  You 

the  iirst  that  he 
think  there  was  a 
lis  man  Jones  has 
ay  rate  he  won't 
ue  to  come." 


TXKV    TU. 

Whkv  the  captain  implied  that  Jones  would 
soon  be  tried  by  court-martial  and  sent  to  prison, 
he  was  mistaken.  No  charges  against  him  were 
ever  preferred.  Indce<l,  for  a  time  we  quite  forgot 
him  and  his  case,  for  u  much  more  important  mat- 
ter took  up  all  the  mind  wo  had  to  spare. 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  that  Francisco  was 
on  guard  a  troop  of  cavalry  clattered  up  the  r.«.d 
past  our  camp.     They  were  evidently  not  out  for 
horse  exercise  or  drill,  for  every  liorse  earned  be- 
sides its  owner  the  full  campaign  ecpiipment.      It 
might  have  been  a  practise  march,  and,  languidly 
interested,  our  men  watched  for  them  to  return ;  but 
they  did  not  return.     Instead,  another  troop  fol- 
lowed the  iirst.     One  of  tlie  troopers,  in  response 
to  an  inquiry  from  a  man  oi  our  company  who  hap- 
pened to  bo  passing  along  the  road,  said  that  all 
available  forces  wore  to  be  sent  against  the  bpan- 
iards,   who,  after  having  surrendered  the  city  o 
Ponce,  had  retreated  and  were  strongly  entrenched 
in  the  hills  some  distance  inland. 

The  trooper  passed  o  .,  and  the  man  to  whom  he 
had  spoken  sfarted  on  a  run  for  the  camp.  In  an 
incredibly  short  time  every  one  had  heard  the 
news,  and  a  hundred  rumors,  each  less  reliable 
than  the  one  that  preceded  it,  were  chasing  each 
other  from  mouth  to  mouth. 

61 


FRANCISCO 

Fresh  bodies  of  troops  came  by  in  rapid  succes- 
siou — more  cavalry,  and  infantry  which  every  now 
and  then  had  to  scramble  to  the  side  of  the  road  to 
allow  the  big  field-gnns  to  pass,  and  which  cheered 
thtMn  as  they  rumbled  along  the  smooth  macadari. 
Then  the  guard  was  t\irncd  out  for  our  brigade 
commander,  who  stopped  at  our  camp  for  a  few 
minutes  and  told  our  captain  to  hold  himself  in 
readiness  to  move  at  a  moment's  notice,  then  jin- 
gled on  with  his  staff. 

Mefore  the  general  came  the  spirits  of  the  men 
had  been  steadily  sinking.  Every  one  else  seemed 
to  be  going  to  the  front,  and  they  feared  that  we 
were  to  be  left  behind.  But  after  this  visit  the 
drooping  spirits  rose  as  tho  by  magic— for  the  time. 
The  cheering  news  flew  round  the  camp,  reaching 
even  to  the  giuard-house,  where  Jones  was  awaiting 
his  trial,  and  one  or  two  other  men  were  contined 
for  minor  offenses.  Then  the  prisoners  sent  a 
message  to  the  captain,  imploring  him  to  release 
them  for  a  time,  at  least,  in  order  tliat  they  might 
take  their  part  in  the  battle  which  they  thought 
was  to  come.  Without  hesitation  the  captain  gave 
orders  for  the  release  of  the  minor  i)risoners ;  but 
about  Jones  he  hesitated  for  some  time,  and  finally 
sent  for  the  man. 

"I'm  not  going  over  again  the  story  of  what 
you've  done,"  he  said  when  Jones  was  brought  be- 
fore him,  "  and  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  arguments 

62 


FRANCISCO 


yf  in  rapid  succes- 
wliicli  every  now 
iide  of  the  road  to 
lud  which  cheered 
smooth  macada'M. 
t  for  our  brigade 
ir  camp  for  a  few 
o  hohl  himself  in 
3  notice,  then  j  in- 
spirits of  the  men 
ry  one  else  seemed 
ley  feared  that  we 
fter  this  visit  the 
agic — for  the  time, 
lie  camp,  reaching 
roues  was  awaiting 
men  were  confined 
prisoners    sent  a 
ng  him  to  release 
er  tliat  they  might 
■hich  they  thought 
)n  the  captain  gave 
nor  i)risoners;  but 
le  time,  and  finally 

the  story  of  what 
es  was  brought  be- 
lear  any  arguments 


or  excuses.  You've  asked  for  a  chance  to  retrieve 
yourself,  and  I'  ve  decided  to  give  it  to  you.  Wiiat 
I  shall  do  with  you  later  I  don't  know.  It  may 
depend  on  yourself.  Now  go  to  Sergeant  Clancy 
and  get  your  acjcouterments." 

"Thank  you,  captain,"  said  Jones,  saluting. 
He  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  added,  "  You 
won't  regret  it,  sir.  I'm  really  not  so  bad  a  man 
when  I  haven't  the  drhik,  and  I'm  through  with 
that  now."  That  Jones  would  drink  no  niore  was 
very  much  doubted.  We  had  heard  men  say  that 
same  thing  many  times  before.  But  at  all  events  he 
began  at  once  to  attend  to  his  somewhat  neglected 
accoutermeuta  and  to  inquire  eagerly  for  the  latest 

news. 

He  got  plenty  of  news,  such  as  it  was,  and  all  of 
the  most  depressing  variety,  for  once  more  the 
spirits  of  the  company  were  ebbing.  They  went 
down  all  night,  reaching  the  low-water  mark  at 
breakfast-time  the  next  morning,  when  our  own 
regiment,  with  shouts  and  chaff,  went  by  and  left 

us  behind. 

Ten  minutes  later  a  mounted  orderly  galloped  up, 
handed  a  paper  to  the  captain,  and  hurried  away. 

"  We  are  ordered  to  escort  a  wagon-train  that 
will  be  along  here  directly,"  said  the  captain  to  me, 
after  reading  the  despatch.  "  I  suppose  there  was 
no  cavalry  at  hand.  Sergeant,  let  the  assembly  be 
sounded  at  once,  and  then  the  general." 

63 


FRANCISCO 

The  "assembly"  was  unnecessary;  the  n.en 
were  already  gathered.  The  tents  came  down 
when  the  "  general  "  rang  ont  aJ  tho  a  cyclone  had 
passed  over  tho  camp.  Thanks  to  tho  warning 
order  of  the  briga.lier-general,  there  was  little  to 
do,  and  by  the  time  tho  train  appeared,  a  few 
minutes  later,  we  were  ready  and  waiting  for  it. 
After  reporting  to  tho  (piartermaster  in  charge,  the 
captain  disposed  tho  men  to  his  liking;  then,  with 
straining  harness  and  shouting  negro  teamsters, 
the  wagons  creaked  away  up  the  long  while  road. 

Along  the  line  of  men  a  ripple  of  conversation 
and  laughter  extended  from  the  head  of  the  train 
to  the  rear-guard,  which  marcho.l  many  yards  be- 
hind it      Francisco  formed  part  of  this  rear-guard, 
and  with  him  went  Borinquen.     When  we  started 
the  goat  had  been  tied  to  an  axle  of  one  of  the 
wagons,   but    was    immediately   liberated   by   Ins 
master.     "  He  can  light  as  well  as  any  one, "  Fran- 
cisco said,  "  and  it   would   break  his  heart  if  he 
were  tied  up  and  had  no  chance.     He  is  as  good 
an  American  as  I,  and  is  just  as  anxious  to  drive 
the  Spaniards  out  of  the  island. "     That  Dorinquen 
could  fight,  none  of  us,  the  first  sergeant  least  of 
all,   doubted  for  a    moment.     The    goat  himself 
seemed  to  feel  that  he  might  soon  be  called  on  to 
show  his  prowess;  and,  probably  fearing  that  he 
might  be  a  little  rusty  in  this  accomplishment  of 
his,  showed    a  decided  tendency  to   practise  on 

64 


FRANCISCO 


isary;  the  men 
tits  came  down 
10  a  cyclone  had 
to  the  warning 
ere  was  little  to 
pjieareil,  a  few 
I  waiting  for  it. 
,er  in  charge,  the 
iing;  then,  with 
iii'gro  teamsters, 
ong  wliile  road. 

of  conver3atioa 
lead  of  the  train 
.  many  yards  be- 
f  this  rear-guard, 
When  we  started 
le  of  one  of  the 
liberated   by   his 
s  any  one, "  Fran- 
his  heart  if  he 
He  is  as  good 
anxious  to  drive 
That  Dorinquen 
sergeant  least  of 
rhe    goat  himself 
on  be  called  on  to 
.y  fearing  that  he 
.ccomplishment  of 
■y  to    practise   on 


everybody  and  everything  not  connected  with  M 
Coniiu.:'v  that  he  met. 

Mile  after  mile  wa.s  slowly  passed.  Thru  the 
little  town  of  Coto,  shortly  tt)  be  burned  by  the 
Puerto  Ricans  themselves;  thru  the  many  lords 
and  the  toy-like  city  of  .luana  Diaz,  we  went.  All 
along  the\outo  those  natives  who  had  not  run 
away  to  hide  in  the  mountains  thronged  '  •  side 
of  the  road,  otTering  (piecr,  indigestible  daii/ieb  > 
the  "  Americanos  "  as  they  went  by. 

Soon  we  began  to  pass  other  bodies  of  troops, 
hal'ed  and  in  bivouac  here  and  there,  and  to  ex- 
change with  them  volleys  of  good-humore  .  chaff. 
Our  train  carried  provisions  and  amr  niti'-u,  and 
therefore  we  were  welcome  :u  anticip..oK  ;i  of  the 
need  for  our  stores. 

Wagon  after  wagon  was  detached  as  we  went, 
until  at  last  but  three  were  left.  A  few  men  were 
left  to  guard  these,  and  the  rest  of  the  company 
sent  on  to  rejoin  the  regiment.  Among  these  few 
men  was  Francisco.  It  seemed  the  best  method 
that  presented  itself  of  keeping  him  out  of  danger. 
I  was  sorry  when  I  gave  him  the  order  to  stay  be- 
hind, his  disappointment  was  so  evident.  Still,  he 
was  far  too  good  a  soldier  to  demur. 

Our  plans  concerning  this  youth  were,  however, 

not  carried  out.     When  we  reached  the  place  where 

our  regiment  was  camped  it  was  very  late,  and  the 

tired  men  dropped  in  their  places  and  slept  like 

5  65 


1-VK  AN  CISCO 

lo«s  Wh..,.  w.^  wero  awakennl  by  reveille  the 
next  .novMU.K.  the  men  who  ha.l  ho-u  left  be Imul 
■uhI  Kniiuisro  were  amctiR  the  first  we  saw.  I  hoy 
l,;ul  been  .-.lievea  shortly  after  we  left,  au.l  ha-l 
followed  iM  to  the  ramp.  .        •      r         i 

The  re^^iiueut  wuh  greedily  devouring  its  frugal 
breakfast  of  cauned  corued    beef    and    harduu^k 
when  the  distant  boom  of  a  heavy  gun  .'aused  it  to 
stop  eatins'  and  listen.     Then  a  Im^le  blew,  so  far 
away   thnt  wo  couhl   hardly  hear  it,   and  others 
i.,ined  in  the  ehorus.     "Ate  everything  yon  ean, 
L  bovs,  an'  don't  lose  no  time  about  it .      1  here  s 
„u  tellin'  when    you'll  get  another  rhanee,     said 
Sergeant  Clancy.     The  advice  was  good,  and  most 
„f  the  men  followed  it;  but  some  of    them,   too 
,nue.h  excited  to  eat,  replaced  the  food  in  their  hav- 
.vsacks  and  began  nervously  to  fumble  w>th  their 
,.,,ip,„ent,  putting  on  their  belts  oi    altrrnig  tie 
length  of  their  blanket-bag  slings.      A  few  minutes 
later  the  regiment  fell  into  a  long,  double  line  be- 
side the  road,  and  waited,  it  seemed  to  me,  tor 

'The  artillery-fire  increased;  the  distant  guns. 
which  we  supposed  to  be  those  of  the  Spaniards, 
were  more  than  answered  by  heavier  reports,  near- 
er tho  still  distant,  which  we  thought-rightly, 
ns'  it  turned  out-must  come  from  our  own  artillery. 
T.eaviug  oft'  the  heavy  packs,  the  regiment  was 
started  up  the  road,  halted,  moved  again,  and  halt- 

6tt 


i)y  n'vnille  the 
Bfu  left  behind 
we  Hiiw.  I  lH>y 
e  loft,  lui'l  h;ul 

urinj,'  its  frugal 
iind    liiinlliK'k 
g\iu  ciiiist'd  it  to 
iglo  bU'W,  so  far 
:  it,  ami  others 
ything  y<iu  can, 
)()ut  it.     There's 
or  ehauee,"  saiil 
a  good,  and  most 
lie  of    tlu'iii,  too 
'ood  in  thi'ir  hav- 
imdde  with  their 
3  oi    alt*  ring  the 
A  few  niinntes 
r,  double  line  be- 
jemed  to  me,  tor 

;he  distant  guns, 
if  the  Spaniards, 
^'ier  reports,  near- 
thought— rightly, 
I  our  own  artillery, 
the  regiment  was 
id  again,  and  li*^t- 


FKANCisrO 

,.d  once  more.     The  artillery  was  nearer  now,  and 
lor  the  lli'st  time  we  heard  the  faint  popping  ot  a 
.lesultory  riHe-tire.      Kianciseo  gave  a  little  cry  of 
delight,  and  laying  on.-  hand  on  the  arm  of  the 
man  who  stood  next  to  him,  with   the   other  he 
pointed   into   tl>e   air.      I   looked.     There   was    a 
sliglit  puff  of  pearly  si'^'^c,  which  vanished  almost 
ius'tautly.     Something  scream.d  thru   th.^  air  and 
ripped  the  thatch  side  of  a  nativ.^  hut  which  stoo.l 
near.       Then    followed   a    dull,    mullled    report. 
"  That  there  wa.s  a  shell,"  observed  one  of  the  men. 
"  What  a  bright,  promisin'  young  man  you  are, 
Hayliss,  to  find  that  out  all  by  yourself,"  said  the 
Urst  sergeant  in  rei-ly.     "  You're  right.      It  was  a 
shell      An'  you'll  see  more  of  'em  if  you're  lucky 
enough  to  live  thru  this  day."     The  suggestion  of 
this  remark  was  not  cheerful.     In  spite  of  himself, 
liayliss  shu.ldered    a  little;  and  then,  by  way   of 
eoncealing  it,  he  translated  what  the  sergeant  had 
said  to  Francisco,  adding  some  touches  of  his  own. 
Certainly  I  could  not  see  that  the  speech  caused 
Francisco  any  uneasiness.     Probably  he  understood 
very   little  of  the   bad   Spanish   in  which   it  was 
spoken,  for  he  seemed  rather  amused  than  other- 
wise.    Nevertheless  this  was  the  signal  for  all  the 
men  who  stoo.l  near  the   boy  to  commence  on.-e 
more  their  old  joki's  about  his  weeping  two  days 
before.     This  was  the  only  thing  that  they  teased 
him  about  that  he  minded.     And  he  certainly  did 

07 


FUANCISCO 

,„i„,l  this.  H.f.M-  1..",'  he  was  winking  hanl  to 
kec.p  buck  l«urs  which  he  wouhl  rather  .lie  t luu.  t<. 
have  ai.pear.  •'  I.uho.l  it  w.s  not  hcauso  toaiecl 
thati;Xl>t,"hesai.li.U.aainKly.  •' It  was  he.au.e 
my  honor  was  tov.che.l,  and  ior  no  other  reason. 
You  8ho\il(l  know  that." 

I  thought  that  the  chaff  had  gone  on  far  onough, 
and  Sergeant  Clancy  ovulently  can.c  to  the  same 
Idusion    at  the    same    t>me      '' ^nu>t    up    you 
men,"  said  he.     "  Ve' re  telliu' the  boy  here  that 
he's  a  coward  so's  not  to  show  the  white   ear  ye  re 
i„  yerselves.     I  s'pose.   now,   that   Hayhss,   that 
brilliant  youth,  wnibetellin'  -that  theno.se  we  re 
a-hearin'  is  the  riHes  of  our  men-mos   hkely   hat 
Brooklyn  cavalry  what  just  went  up   '^^-^^^^ 
an'  I  woul.ln't  wonder  but  what  he'd  add  that  the 
next  turn  nught  con.e  our  way,  if  he  only  knowed 
enough  to  think  of  it."  r  •*.  » 

If  Bayliss  had  -'knowed  enough  to  think  of  it 
he  would  have  been  entirely  correct.     Our  bugles 
and  those  of  L  Company  brought  us  into  column 
and  started  us  up  the  road.     As  the  senior  ofhce  , 
mv  captain  commanded  both    companies,  and  1, 
Zr  fore,  was  left  in  charge  of  M.     The  rest  of 
he  regiment,  as  we  tiled  ^y  it,  B-eted  -  with 
volleys  of  rough  jokes,  mainly  directed  at  Fian 
CISCO   who  marched,  erect  and  joyful,  in  the  hne  of 
file-closers.     No  soldier  ever  went  into  action  more 
gladly  than  did  Francisco  that  day. 


ikinj;  hanl  to 
ler  lUe  than  to 
M  aiiBo  I  tfuted 
It  was  because 
other  reason. 

on  far  ononRh, 
ic  to  the  same 
Shut    up,  you 
.  boy  here  that 
vhite  fear  ye' re 
:   Haylisfl,   that 
■  the  noise  we're 
most  likely  that 
ip,  cUsniouuted, 
)'  d  add  that  the 
he  only  knowed 

to  think  of  it " 
id.     Our  bugles 

us  into  column 
he  senior  officer, 
in  panics,  and  I, 
M.     The  rest  of 

greeted  us  with 
lirected  at  Fran- 
ful,  in  the  line  of 
t  into  action  more 
ly. 


KHAN  CI  SCO 

We  were  hurried  up  th-  nuHlary  road,  past  wait- 
in«  wagnn-trai..s,  dotachmonts  of   troops,  and  al 
the  impedimenta  that  .•ougr.-gate  in  the  roar  of 
even  a  small  army.     In  oi>e  spot,  ahad.-.l  and  grassy, 
a  table  had  boo.,  plan-d,  and  around   it  stood  men 
i„  oil-cluth  aprons  who  wore  red  rrosscs  on  their 
arms      Thus  far  these  men  had  little  to  do^it  was 
too  early;  but  soon  we  mot  a  man,  lu're  and  thoro 
U„„,i„.  toward  thorn,  and  some  holpod  or  earned 
bv  oMn.iados.     Uut  even  without  them  tho  prepar- 
ation under  the  trees,  there,  had  rather  a  sobonug 
effect  on  those  who  saw  it.     Somehow  it  looked  so 

very  tamest. 

We  wore  halted  for  a  nu,ment,  and  a  mounted 
officer  lode  up  and  gave  some  order  to  the  oaptam 
who  saluted,  and,  drawing  his  swor.l,  turned  toward 
us  A  vinous  hiss  over  our  heads  made  us  all 
duck  A  moment  later  a  puff  of  white  dust  flew 
up  from  the  road,  and  we  realized  that  it  was  a 
Btray  Mauser  bullet  that  had  glanced  by  the  hard 
macadam  and  wont  singing  away  into  space 

"  Attention!  Double  time-march!  called  the 
captain.  The  bugles  repeated  the  command,  and 
the  four  hundred  feet  pounded  the  road  with  <iuick 
beats.  Another  road,  passing  thru  a  valley, 
stopped  at  the  farther  end  by  steep  hills  and  car- 
peted with  young  sugar-cane,  led  away  at  right 
angles  from  the  one  on  which  he  had  been  traveling, 
and  up  this  road  we  were  turned.     More  bullets 

69 


hissed  over  ruv  lu-a-ls,  kickocl  up  puff,  of  dust,  or 
tore  thru  th.  cuno.  These  were  ,iot  str:v,y  bullets 
A  sustained  lire  came  from  somewhere  at  the  head 
of  the  vallev,  but  from  just  what  point  we  could 
not  tell.  In  spite  of  the  officers'  oiinrts  the  pace 
quickened  until  it  was  almost  a  run;  yet  the  ca- 
dence was  unbroken.  One  of  the  men  gave  a  little 
scream  of  surprise  and  caught  at  his  arm,  then 
laughed  apologetically.  It  was  only  a  graze,  and 
he  never  lost  step. 

The  bullets  began  to  fly  more  thickly.     As  he 
trotted  along,  the  captain  kept  looking  over  his  left 
shoulder  at  the  bald,  round  top  of  a  hdl  near  the 
road  we  had  left.     Soon  he  apparently  found  what 
he  sought      '-Fours  right!     Halt!     Lie^^^"" 
came  the  orders  in  .piick  succession.     We  obeyed 
with  our  bodies  before  our  minds  liad  time  to  act 
and  found  ourselves  in  a  ditch  beside  the  road  with 
the  bullets  hissing  in  harmless  spite  over  our  heads 
Here  we  waited.     It  was  agonizing  work,  that 
waiting,  especially  for  the  officers,  who  had  to  walk 
up  and\lown  in  an  unconcerned  sort  of  way  to  give 
confidence  to  the  men.     This  uneasines^s  was  not 
shared  by  Francisco.     A  speck  of  dust  had  insinu- 
ated itself  into  the  breech  of  his  rifle,  and  extract- 
ing a  rag  from  his  pocket,  he  rubbed  the  offeiiding 
place  as  busily  as  tho  he  were  in  camp,  and  with 
as  much  unconcern.     The  only  other  person  who 
did  not  seem  to  mind  the  bullets  that  were  whiz- 

70 


uffs  of  dust,  ot 
it  stray  bullets. 
ere  at  the  head 
poiut  we  could 
efforts  the  pace 
id;  yet  the  ca- 
iien  gave  a  little 
c  his  arm,  then 
ly  a  graze,  and 

jhickly.     As  he 
Ling  over  his  left 

a  hill  near  the 
mtly  found  what 
t!  Lie  down!  " 
m.  We  obeyed 
liad  time  to  act, 
ide  the  road  with 
;e  over  our  heads, 
jizing  work,  that 

who  had  to  walk 
3rt  of  way  to  give 
easiness  was  not 
:  dust  had  insinu- 
rifle,  and  extract- 
ibed  the  offending 
ri  camp,  and  with 
other  person  who 
IS  that  were  whiz- 


FRAls^C'ISCO 

zing  by  was  our  captain,  who  stood  nith  his  field- 
glasses  fixed  on  the  round-topped  hill.  Presently  a 
pigmy  figure  appeared  there,  bearing  a  red-and- 
white  flag,  which  it  wagged  vigorously  for  a 
wliile  from  side  to  side,  and  then  stopped.  The 
captain  put  away  his  iield-Rlasses. 

''Deploy  your  men  on  the  right  of  the  road  and 
advu>.e,"  he  said  tome,  and  then  left  to  givesuni- 
lar  orders,  relating  to  tlie  other  side  of  the  roaa 
to  the  commander  of  L  Company.      In  a  moment 
the   bugles   blew  the  signal  to    rise.      1  he    men 
sprang  to  their  feet  with  a  cheer,  and,   running 
hard,    formed    as    skirmishers    in   a   hue   whicli 
Htretched  across  the  valley,  and  which  began  slowly 
to  sweep  along  its  length.     The  bullets  did  not  so 
much  trouble  us  now.     The  r.oise  made  by  t  u^ 
men  as  they  crashed  thru  the  cane  drowned  theu 
shrill  voices.     One  man  in  front  of  me  threw  up  his 
hands,  staggered,  and  fell.     His  plac^  was  ms  an  - 
ly  taken  by  Francisco,   who  scuttled  between  the 
close-growing  cane-stalks  as  a  rabbit  might  have 

°«  Halt '  Lie  down !  "  sang  the  bugles  once  more. 
The  cane  had  come  to  an  end;  beyond  was  open 
pasture-land,  and  we  had  been  stopped  ]"«*  before 
we  would  have  broken  from  our  cover.  ^^  ith  some 
trouble  we  could  see  between  cane-stalks  the  hills 
which  closod  the  end  of  the  valley,  their  sides 
scarred  by  raw  lines  of  fresh  earth  thrown  up  to 

71 


FRANCISCO 

make  the  Spanish  treuohes.  Ou  these  lines  of 
earth  swarmed  little  brown  men  in  uniforms  of 
blue-and-white  cotton  that  looked  like  bed-ticking. 
Their  fire  had  ceased;  they  had  lost  us,  and  had 
apparently  come  out  to  see,  if  possible,  where  we 
were. 

"  Fire  at  will— commence  firing !  "  said  our  bu- 
gles. The  shadow  of  the  cane  sparkled  with 
Hashes,  and  the  reports  rattled  to  the  hills,  which 
threw  them  back  at  us.  In  an  instant  the  bank  of 
new  earth  was  empty.  Every  man  had  dropped 
into  the  trench<;s  as  a  prairie-dog  bobs  into  its  hole. 
A  volley  crashed  from  their  line,  but  the  shots  flew 
wild.     Ours  did  not:  we  could  see  the  earth  fly. 

Our  bugles  then  spoke  to  us  again,  and  said  sev- 
eral things.  In  obedience  to  their  command,  the 
firing,  with  a  belated  shot  or  two,  stopped;  the 
bayonets  rattled  as  they  were  snappeci  in  place; 
the  men  rose,  and,  trembling  with  suppressed  ex- 
citement, trotted  out  across  the  plain.  Volley  af- 
ter volley  crashed  from  the  trenches;  here  and 
there  a  man  fell,  and  our  pace  quickentid  some- 
what. 

"  Steady,  there — steady !  Keep  that  line 
dressed!"  called  our  captain  warningly.  Then,  as 
we  had  nearly  reached  the  foot  of  the  hill,  he 
barked  forth  one  word — "  Charge!  " 

With  a  yell  that  drowned  the  reports  of  the 
rifles  our  two  companies  darted   forward   at   top 

73 


FRANCISCO 


these  lines   of 

in   uniforms  of 

like  bed-ticking. 

ost  us,  and  had 

isible,  where  we 

!  "  said  our  bu- 
sparkled  with 
the  hills,  which 
tant  the  bank  of 
an  had  dropped 
obs  into  its  hole. 
ut  the  shots  flew 
'  the  earth  fly. 
in,  and  said  sev- 
ir  comniiind,  the 
vo,  sto})pi'd;  the 
appeu  in  place; 
1  suppressed  ex-, 
ain.  Volley  af- 
iches;  here  and 
luickeutid  some- 

3ep     that      line 

ngly.     Then,  as 

of  the  hill,  he 

reports  of   the 
forward   at   top 


speed.  The  next  moment  we  u  rro  clinging  to  the 
steep  hillside  on  to  which  our  impetus  had  car- 
ried us;  scrambling  and  climbing,  slipping  back 
and  dodjiing  rolling  stones,  until  we  reached  the 
trenches  and  tumbled  into  them.  They  were  emp- 
ty.    Not  a  Spaniard,  dead  or  alive,  remained. 

For  a  moment  the  men  were  silent  in  blank 
amazement;  then  a  great  roar  of  laughter  swept 
down  the  line.  It  was  an  impulse  caused,  I  think, 
by  the  relief  they  felt.  A  moment  later  there  was 
a  fresh  roar  as  I'rancisco,  who  had  been  distanced 
in  the  charge,  came  scrambling  fiercely  up  the  hill, 
the  hot  barrel  of  his  rifle  clutched  tightly  in  one 
little  brown  haiul.  The  laughter  did  not  last  long. 
A  volley,  well  meant  but  badly  directed,  rang  from 
a  coffee-plantation  higher  on  the  hill,  sending  our 
men  out  of  the  trenches  as  quickly  as  the  Span- 
iards had  dropped  into  them.  The  enemy  had  not 
retreated  far. 

"  Lie  down !  Drop !  "  roared  our  captain  as 
soon  as  the  men  had  cleared  the  bank  of  earth  in 
front  of  the  trench.  The  company  officers  echoed 
him,  and  most  of  the  men  obeyed,  snuggling  them- 
selves under  the  shelter  of  the  earthwork.  -ome 
of  the  younger  soldiers  had  reached  the  bottom  of 
the  hill,  and  had  to  climb  up  again. 

The  tiring,  which  had  been  high,  lowered  until  a 
haze  of  dust  hung  over  the  top  of  the  bank,  kicked 
up  by  the  bullets  that  lodged  there.     Then  it  slack- 

73 


FUAXCTS(iO 

ened  somewhat.     "No  Hring!"  called  our  captain 
o  the  other  officers.     "  You  don't  know  wh  re  the 
enemy  is.     Wait  till  we  locate  him."     He  chmbed 
0  t^e  top  of  the  bank,  ^mbuckling  the  case  of  hi 
tld  glaLs.     Suddenly  he  sUunbled  and  lu^xhed 
,,nv  '  d,  throwing  up  one  hand  in  a  vau.  attemp 
to  regain  his  balance.     Two  of  the  prostrate  fig  ues 
yiug  under  the  bank  rose  and  darted  forward  to 
iis't  him.     One  of  them  grasped  at  1^-  "1--^ 
han.l       A  ragged  chorus  of  .hots  rang  out  fiom  the 
pition;  5^  n.austrai,M.ned,  then  collapsed, 

and  all  three  fell  heavily  into  the  trench. 

it  was  all  over  in  an  instant.      I  was  too  fa 

away  to  assist.  A^^  ^  ^'^^^  ^^^  "^V^.Tat  o 
enemy  something  to  think  about  m  hope  tha  o 
n.ore\hots  would  be  fir.d  at  the  three  uuU  - 
could  get  them  in.  I  frantically  shrieked  the  oi 
der  to  commence  tiring  from  the  magazines,  and 
the  commander  of  L  Company,  the  my  superior, 

"■  Cver  was  an  order  obeyed  m^ore  promptly^ 
Practised  hands  pumped  the  repeatmg-nfles ;  the 
shots  sounded  like  the  roll  of  a  drum  and  he 
young  coffee-trees  bent  and-  swayed  as  tho  a  wmd 
[ossed  their  branches.  Such  a  fire  could  last  only 
for  !  moment,  but  before  it  had  time  to  slacken  a 

hell  flew  scleaming  amon,   the  coffee-trees  -d 
burst  there,  and  an  echomg  -- ^f  ^^^^^  J^^j' 

the  side  hills.     Then  I  knew  that  the   artillery 

74 


i.i 


i  our  captain 
,o\v  where  the 
He  climbed 
tie  case  of  his 
1  and  lurched 
,  vaiu  attempt 
rostrate  figuics 
ced  forward  to 
t  his  upraised 
ug  out  from  the 
hen  collapsed, 
ench. 

I  was  too  far 
as  to  give  the 
n  hope  that  no 

three  until  we 
hrieked  the  or- 
niagazines,  and 
10  my  superior, 

nore    promptly, 
a'tiug-rifles;  the 

drum,  and  the 
d  as  tho  a  wind 
e  could  last  only 
ime  to  slacken  a 

coffee-trees  and 
ame  from  one  of 
lat  the   artillery 


FRANCISCO 

1  no  f.iv  'IS  we  \N  «-.o  concerned  the 
had  come  up,  and  as  tar  ab  we 

ti„,e  10  see  U>,.  r^.m"  "«  ">  "",'«''  ""*„„; 

tl. 'i  I,-.-"", ->">"«"  "■'»"'■     •■  I'm  .>»t  Int,    1.. 

"      f  11     ;md   I   think   I've    si-mmea  my 

::l     Som:UHtt»,.tt..«eme,.      rmaW 

,x  ^  i.un  "  said  Sergeant  Clancy,     tor 

"  Heaven  rest  lum,      saiu  ocio 

pobe  the  tail  ^     ^  ^i,  that  leg  of  his 

captain,  if  he  isn  t  walkmg  a  .^^ 

before  you  can  use  your  ankle.     He  U  come 
a  minute.     He's  coming  to  now. 

As  the  doctor  spoke  ^>---- «PT^' 1  th  't 
and  thev  happened  to  fall  upon  me.  I  '-pe  that 
andtnej  "-^i  i  ^j  ■  ^  „,«  a  coward, 

now  the  men  w  11  no  jonge     ^^  ^^^  ^^^^^^  ^^ 

sVior  el  Teniente,    saiU  ne. 
^^^Lldier  should.     I  wish  always  to  do  that. 

75 


FRANCISCO 

I  certainly  did  not  thiuk  Francisco  a  coward, 
and  had  never  thought  so;  but  before  I  could  an- 
swer him  the  captain  spoke. 

"  If  you  would  learn  to  be  a  good  soldier,  Fran- 
cisco, you  should  go  to  the  United  States,  and  to 
school,  and  there  learn  to  speak  English,  and  many 
other  things  besides.     Would  you  like  to?  " 

"Sefior,"  answered  Francisco,  "save  that  it 
would  prevent  my  going,  I  would  die  for  it." 

"  Then  you  shall  go,"  said  the  captain.  With  a 
smile  of  the  utmost  beatitude,  Francisco  turned 
away  his  head  and,  closing  his  eyes,  lay  still. 

"Did  you  really  mean  that?"  asked  the  sur- 
geon, looking  up,  amused,  from  the  bandage  he 
was  wrapping  around  the  captain's  ankle.  The 
surgeon  was  not  as  busy  as  we  feared  he  would  be 
when  we  saw  him  before  the  battle. 

"  Of  course  I  mean  it,"  replied  the  captain  some- 
what testily,  for  his  ankle  hart  him.     "  Didn't  you 
hear  me  say  so?     When  the  regiment's  ordered 
home  that  boy  shall  go  with  it." 
And  he  kept  his  word. 


78 


I 


lisco  a  coward, 
ore  I  could  an- 


d  soldier,  Fran- 
cl  States,  and  to 
glish,  and  many 
like  to?  " 

"  save   that  it 
lie  for  it." 
iptain.     With  a 
'rancisco  turned 
!S,  lay  still. 

asked  the  sur- 
the  bandage  he 
I's  ankle.  The 
,red  he  would  be 
e. 

he  captain  fioiue- 
n.  "Didn't  you 
jiment's  ordered 


The  Taper 

By 

Count  Leo  Tolstoy 


ft 


THi:  tapi:r 


It  was  in  tho  time  of  the  lords.  TliPre  were 
different  kinds  of  lords.  There  were  those  who 
did  not  forget  that  there  is  a  (tod,  that  some  day 
they  must  die;  and  these  did  no  wrong  to  men. 
There  were  others  who  were  dogs  may  (rod  liave 
mercy  on  them!  Hut  thore  were  no  worse  chiefs 
than  the  old  serfs  oome  up  out  of  the  mud  and  be- 
come chiefs  in  their  tuiii.  These,  abovo  all,  made 
the  life  of  the  poor  ]ieojile  hard. 

Tn  a  certain  mani>r  there  was  a  certain  manager. 
The  peasants  did  their  tasks.  The  lands  were 
extensive  and  good,  and  there  were  water-courses, 
fields,  and  forests.  There  should  have  been  enough 
for  everybody,  tho  manor,  ami  its  muzhiks.  But 
the  proprietor  had  chosen  a  manager  from  among 
the  domestics  of  one  of  his  other  estates. 

This  manager  at  once  assumed  all  authority,  and 
pressed  with  all  his  weight  on  tho  backs  of  the 
muzhiks.  Ue  had  a  family— a  wife  and  two  mar- 
ried daughters— and  had  already  amassed  consid- 

»  Translated  from  tliu  French  by  Kate  Rohrer  Cain. 
70 


THE    TAl'KR 


If 


erable  money.     Ho  should  have  been  able  to  live, 
and  to  live  witbout  wrong-doing;  but  he  was  in- 
satiable, and  already  hardened  in  evil       He  began 
by  setting  unreasonable  tasks    for   the   muz  Inks. 
He  had  a  brickyard  made,  and  mado  everybody 
work  fur  bin.,  men  and  won>en.     Then  ho  sold  the 
bricks  for  his  profit.     The  muzhiks  went  to  Mos- 
cow to  complain  to  the  lord,  but  nothing  was  done 
about  it.     The  lord  sent  them  bark,  and  let  the 
manager  do  as  ho  pleased.     The  latter  found  out 
that  the  muzhiks  had  made  a  complaint,  and  he 
wanted  revenge.     The  lile  of  the  peasants  became 
harder  than  ever.     Among  them  were  false  breth- 
ren who  denounced  their  comrades  and  strove  to 
injure  one  another.     The  people  were  uneasy,  and 
the  manager's  anger  increased. 

As  time  went  on,  things  grew  worse,  ihey 
began  to  hate  the  manager  as  a  wild  beast.  \^  hen 
he  went  into  town,  people  shunned  him  as  they 
would  a  wolf,  hiding,  no  matter  where,  to  get  out 
of  his  sight.  The  manager  perceived  this,  and  the 
fear  he  inspired  irritated  him  the  more. 

In  time  such  monsters  ai'e  always  cut  olf.  ihe 
muzhiks  gathered  together  often  in  some  corner, 
and  the  boldest  would  say:  "  Shall  we  longer  en- 
dure our  oppressor?  To  be  the  death  of  such  a 
creature  13  no  sin." 

One  day,  before  Holy  Week,  they  held  a  meet- 
ing in  the  woods,  where  the  manager  had  sent 

80 


TIIK   'I'ArKH 


Bti  able  to  live, 
but  he  was  in- 
vil.     lie  began 
tho   muzluks. 
liiilo  everybody 
hen  ho  sold  the 
s  went  to  Mos- 
(thing  was  done 
pk,  and  U't  the 
hitter  found  out 
npluint,  and  he 
aeasants  became 
,'ere  false  breth- 
:>s  and  strove  to 
ore  uneasy,  and 

V  worse.  They 
Id  beast.  When 
ed  him  as  they 
here,  to  get  out 
ved  this,  and  the 
more. 

lys  cut  ol^.     The 
in  some  corner, 
all  we  longer  en- 
death  of  such  a 

they  held  a  meet- 
lanager  had  sent 


thera  to  trim  the  trees.     T'he  time  drew  near  when 
they  might  eat  and  feel  at  ease. 

"How  to  exist  now,"  they  said,  "is  tho  ques- 
tion,    lie  oppresses  us  grievously.     We  are  har- 
assed.    There  is  no  rest,  day  or  night,  for  us  or 
our  wives.     And    even   now  ho  is  not  satistied. 
And  the  lash!     Simeon  is  dead  under  the  lash. 
Anissim   perished   in   the   stocks.     What  are  we 
waiting  for?     He  will  come  again  this  evening, 
and   i-ersecnte   us   merely  for   Ids   pleasure.      We 
have  only  to  pull  him  off  his  horse  and  give  him 
a  blow  of  the  ax,  and  that  is  euough.     We'll  bury 
bin    like  a  dog,  and  the  water  will  flow  over  him. 
Omy  l<t.   us   understand    one   anotiier  well.     All 
hold  firm.     There  must  be  no  disloyalty!  " 

Thus  spoke  Wassili  Minaer.  He  was  more  set 
against  the  manager  than  the  rest.  The  oppressor 
whipped  Wassili  every  week,  and  he  had  taken 
Wassili's  wife  to  be  his  cook. 

So  the  muzhiks  plotted  till  he  arrived.  Soon 
he  appeared  on  horseback,  and  began  to  find  fault 
with  the  workmen  because  they  had  not  cut  the 
trees  as  he  wanted  them.  Among  the  heap  of  cut 
branches  he  discovered  a  little  linden. 

"I  didn't  order  the  lindens  cut!"  cried  he. 
"Who  did   it?     Own  up,  or  I'll  whip  every  one 

of  you!" 

Then  he  tried  to  find  to  what  row  the  cut  linden 
belonged.      Gidor  was  denounced  as  the  culprit. 
6  81 


THE   TATEll 

The  muua«..r  bvuisea  l.is  nuv  till  thobluoa..'vmo. 
Tlu>n  he  cU.l  tho  sun.o  thing  tn  Wu.ssih  on  the  pre- 
text that  hisheiq.  was  not  l-ig  e'.ongh;  an.l  then 

lie  left.  ,  ,    ,     „„,, 

Tu  the  evening  the  peasants  reassembled,   and 

Wassili  spoke: 

"See  here,  all  ot  you.     You  r.vo  not  men,  but 
sparrows.     We'll  settle  his  acoount  for  hun,  you 
«av  ■  an.l  when  the  time  comes  you  back  out.     .lust 
like'  a  lot  of   sparrows  against  a  sparrow-hawk. 
•No   cowardice,   no    disloyalty!'      Au.l    when   he 
comes  nobody  breathes.     And  then  the  sparrow- 
hawk    sei/es    what    lie   wants   and    bears   it   off. 
Who's  missing?     Ivan.     So  much  the  worse,  it  s 
all  right.     Just  like  you.     When  he  was  doing  up 
Gidor  that  was  the  time  to  set  upon  him  and  hnish 
him.      r.ut   you!     'No  cowardice,  no  defection. 
And  when  he  came,  everybody  bent  his  head. 

The  faultfinding  became  more  and  more  frequent, 
and  the  mu/,hiks  swore  to  get  rid  oi  the  manager. 
He  gave  out  w.nk  during  the  holidays.     This  order 
in-itated  the  peasants  e.tvemely.     They  assembled 
at  Wassili's  house  in  I'assion   Week,  and  again 

deliberated.  . 

"  If  he  has  forgotten  God,"  they  said,     we  ought 
to  kill  him  for  good.    We  ourselves  shall  die  if  we 

don't  do  it."  ■•    •  i 

Pierre  Mikheer   came   also.     He  was   a  timid 

man,  was  Pierre  Mikheer,  and  he  did  not  like  to 

83 


lio  bli'od  c.iiiiP. 
sili  on  the  i)rt- 
iigh;  iinil  then 

iHseinl'led,   and 

0  not  men,  but 
it  for  him,  you 
back  out.     .lust 

siiaiTow-hawk. 

And    wlien   he 

>n  the  spaiTOW- 

1  bears   it   off. 

L  the  worse,  it's 
tie  was  doing  up 
I  him  and  linish 
,  no  defection!  ' 
this  head." 
d  more  frequent, 

of  tiie  manager, 
ays.     This  order 

They  assembled 
Veek,  and  again 

y  said,  "  we  ought 
es  shall  die  if  we 


He  was   a   timid 
e  did  not  like  to 


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THE  TAPETl 

mW  in  discussions.  He  came,  nevertheless,  and 
said:  "  NYhat  you  think  of,  my  brothers,  is  a  great 
siu  To  lose  one's  own  soul  is  a  serious  thing.  It 
is  easy  to  lose  the  soul  of  another;  but  how  shall 
he  find  it  hiniself?  Does  he  do  wrong?  The 
wrong  remains  with  him.     It  must  be  borne,  my 

bretliren." 

At  these  words,  Wassili  became  angry. 

"  He  goes  over  the  same  thing,  always,  this  fel- 
low, that  it  is  a  sin  to  kill  a  man !     Of  course,  but 
what  man?     It  is  a  crime  to  kill  a  good  one;  but 
such  a  dog!     Even  God  wishes  it.     You  have  to 
kill  mad  dogs  if  you  have  any  pity  on   men.     It 
would  be  a   greater  sin  not   to   kill   :",im.     How 
many  more  men  will  he  make  suffer  if  he  is  let 
alone!     And   for  us,   if   we   have  to  pay  for  Ins 
death,  we  shall  suffer  for  others,  and  they  will  be 
grateful    to    us.     You    talk    nonsense,   ^hkheer. 
Will  it  be  less  a  sin  to  work  during  Eastev  than 
to   kill   him?     Y'ou   are   not   going   to  work,   are 

you?" 

Mikheer  answered:  "And  why  not?  If  I  am 
sent  I  shall  work.  It  is  not  for  myself  that  1 
work,  and  God  will  know  whose  is  the  sin.  Only 
we  must  not  forget.  It  is  not  I  who  speak  thus, 
my  brethren.  If  it  were  said  that  evil  should  be 
combated  with  evil,  God  would  have  proclaimed 
it ;  but  the  contrary  is  laid  down.  He  that  taket  ,i 
the  sword  shall  perish  with  the  sword.     To  kill  a 

83 


J 


,  THE  TAPER 

„.an  is  an  easy  thing-,  but  the  blood  will  stain  yj 
Ll  To  kill  a  man  is  to  dye  your  soul  with  bloody 
Y  u  th  nk  to  put  evil  out  of  the  way  by  killing  a 
I  ck  d  man.  You  will  charge  your  conscience 
:;ta  greater  evil.  Endure  the  misfortune,  and 
you  vanquish  it." 

After 'this 'the  "muzhiks    took  no   i^olution- 
Counsel  was  divided.     Some  thought  ..  h  Was 
sili;  the  others  ranged  themselves  on  the  side  o 
Pierre   to  commit  no  sin,  and  endure.     The  hist 
d  y,  Way,  the  manager  let  the  Peasan^^^  obserj 
thlf ete      Bnt  the  starost  [a  representative  of  the 
'pl^ts  named  by  themselves]  came  in  «ie  ev  - 
ning,  and  said:   "Mikhail  Simenovitch,  the  man 
a'er  orders  that  everybody  go  to  work  tomorrow 
^'tL  starost  went  thru  all  the  village,  a-i^u- 
oing  the  work  for  the  morrow,  assigning  the  fields 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river  to  some,  and  those 
along  the  highway  to  others.     The  mu.hiks  wept, 
Vint  thev  dared  not  disobey. 

The  next  day  they  got  out  their  plows  and  went 
to  w^rk.  ThI  church  bells  rang  "-'^^f 
everybody  kept  the  f&te'but  the  muzhiks.     They 

"Sau  Simenoviteh,  the  manager,  -se  late  and 
:nad  a  tour  of  the  fields.  His  wife  and  his  wid- 
Twed  daughter  dressed  themselves,  and  went  to 
mass.     Tl^y  returned,  and  a  servaat  prepared  the 

84 


THE  TAFER 


lod  will  stain  your 
ir  soul  -with  blood. 
>  way  by  killing  a 
your  conscience 
B  misfortune,  and 


ok   no   resolution, 
lought  with  Was- 
ves  on  the  side  of 
endure.     The  lirst 
le  peasants  observe 
'presentative  of  the 
]  came  in  the  eve- 
Lenovitch,  the  man- 
,0  work  to-morrow." 
;he  village,  announ- 
assigning  the  fields 
to  some,  and  those 
The  muzhiks  wept, 

heir  plows  and  went 
rang  for  mass,  and 
the  muzhiks.     They 

lanager,  rose  late  and 
is  wife  and  his  wid- 
iselves,  and  went  to 
servant  prepared  the 


samovar.     Mikhail  Simeuovitch  returned  also,  and 
they  all  sat  down  to  take  tea.     After  tea,  the  man- 
ager lit  his  pipe,  and  had  the  starost  called. 
"  Well,  have  you  put  the  muzhiks  to  work?  " 
"Yes,  Mikhail  Simenovitch." 
"  Is  everybody  there?  " 
"  Everybody  is  there.     I  led  them  myself." 
"  Keep  at  it!     Keep  at  it!     Do  they  work?     Go 
see,  and  tell  them  I'll  be  there  after  dinner.    They 
must  do  a  measure  of  double  rows,  and  do  it  well. 
If   I  lind  bad  work,  I'll  not  promise  what  will 
happen." 

"Yes,  they  understand." 

The  starost  was  about  to  leave,  when  Mikhail 
Simeuovitch  called  him  back,  lie  wanted  to  say 
something  more,  but  felt  embarrassed  about  say- 
ing it.     He  did  not  know  just  how  to  begin. 

Finally  it  came  out,  "Listen  well,"  he  said,  "to 
what  these  -'ffians  say  of  me.  Find  out  who 
threaten,  and  wuat  they  say.  Report  all  to  me. 
I  know  them,  the  rascals.  They  don't  want  to 
work.  They  would  like  to  stay  in  bed  all  the 
time,  and  do  nothing.  To  eat  and  make  merry— 
that'b  what  they  would  like.  Then,  listen  to  their 
chatter,  and  bring  it  all  to  me.  I  must  know. 
Go  along,  now,  and  hide  nothing  on  me." 

The  starost  left,  and  went  to  the  fields  toward 
the  muzhiks.  The  manager's  wife  had  heard  the 
conversation  between  the  starost  and  her  husband. 

85 


THK   TAPKR 

She  was   a   gentle   woman,   with   a   good    heart 
When  she  could,  she  calmed  her  husband  and  took 
the  part  of  the  peasants  with  him. 

Now  she  approached  near  to  her  luisband,  and 

made  a  request.  ,    ,     ,< ,      ^x 

"My  dear  Michenka,"  she  pleaded,  "for  the 
great  day,  for  the  sake  of  the  fet.  of  Our  Loi^l, 
do  not  sin,  and,  in  the  name  of  Christ,  do  not  make 
the  muzhiks  work." 

But  Mikhail  took  no  heed  of  his  wife  s  words, 
and  laughed  in  her  face.  "  Is  it  then  so  long  since 
the  switch  promenaded  over  your  shoulders  that 
you  have  become  so  bold?     This  is  none  of  your 

business." 

"  Michenka,  my  dear,  I  have  had  a  dream  about 
you, -a  bad  dream.  Listen  to  me.  Don't  make 
the  muzhiks  work." 

"It  may  be  that  you  are  too  fat,  and  you  thmk 
the  cat-o'nine  tails  will  not  lash.     Take  care !  take 

care !  "  ,       i.  u  • 

He  was  angry,  was  Simenovitch.    He  thrust  hia 

lighted  pipe  almost  into  his  wife's  mouth,  and 

sent  her  away,  ordering  her  to  have  di.mer  served. 

Mikhail  Simenovitch  ate -stew,  and  pie,  chtcJn  an 

pore  [a  kind  of  soup  made  of  cabbage  and  beets], 

pig  roasted  in  milk,  a  soup  of  meat  and  milk.    He 

drank  cherry  brandy,  and  ended  with  a  sweet  cake. 

Then  he  called  the  cook,  and  ordered  her  to  sing, 

while  he  accompanied  her  on  the  guitar. 

86 


\ 


i 


a   good    heart, 
usband  and  took 

er  liusbaud,  and 

eaded,  "for  the 
ifi  of  Our  Lord, 
rist,  do  not  make 

his  wife's  words, 
hen  so  long  since 
ir  shoulders  that 
1  is  none  of  your 

lad  a  dream  about 
me.     Don't  make 

at,  and  you  think 
Take  care !  take 

3h.  He  thrust  his 
life's  mouth,  and 
ave  dinner  served, 
and  pie,  chtchi  an 
bbage  and  beets], 
eat  and  milk.  He 
.  with  a  sweet  cake, 
i-dered  her  to  sing, 
e  guitar. 


THE   TAl'EU 

Thus  gayly  did  Mikhail  Sinienovitch  pass  the 
time,  twanging  his  guitar  and  idling  with  the  cook. 
Presently  the  starost  entered,  saluted,  and  made 
his  report.  "  Well,"  asked  the  manager,  '•  do  they 
work?     Will  they  get  through  their  task?  " 

"  They  are  already  half  done." 

"  Is  it  well  done?  " 

"  Yes,  I  saw  nothing  wrong.     They  are  afraid." 

"  Does  the  ground  open  uj)  well?  " 

"Yes,  very  well.     It  powders  up   like  popi>y 

seed." 

The  manager  was  silent  a  moment.  "  And  what 
do  they  say  about  me?"  he  asked.  "Do  they 
abuse  me?  " 

The  starost  seemed  embarrassed.  But  Mikhail 
Simenovitch  ordered  him  to  speak  the  whole  truth. 
"Don't  be  afraid.  They  are  not  your  words  you 
speak,  but  theirs.  If  you  tell  the  truth,  1  will 
reward  you ;  if  you  conceal  anything,  I  will  whip 
you.  Here,  Ketucha!  Give  him  a  glass  of  brandy 
to  brace  him  up." 

The  cook  brought  the  brandy  to  the  starost. 
He  offered  a  toast,  drank  the  contents  of  the  glass, 
and  wiped  his  beard.  "No  matter,"  thought  he; 
"no  matter  if  they  don't  speak  well  of  him;  I'll 
tell  him  the  truth  if  he  wants  it."  So  he  be- 
gan: 

"They    complain,    Mikhail    Simenovitch,  they 

complain." 

87 


THE  TAl'Ell 


"  But  what  do  they  say?     Speak  out!  "  ^^ 

"  They  say  that  he  does  uot  believe  in  CJod. 
The  manager  burst  out  laughing. 
"  Who  said  t' at?" 
"Everybody.     They  say,  moreover,  that  he  has 

dealings  with  the  devil." 

The  manager  fairly  split  his  sides  laughing. 

"That's  good.  But  tell  me  in  detail.  NV  ho 
talks  like  that?     What  does  Wassili  say  ?  " 

The  starost  did  not  like  to  speak  ill  of  his  com- 
rades ;  but  for  a  lo,.g  tuue  there  had  been  a  misun- 
derstanding betweeu  him  and  Wassili.  ^^ 

"  Wassili  bawls  louder  than  the  rett." 

"  But  what  does  he  say?     Speak  out!  " 

"  I  am  afraid  to  repeat  it.  He  says  that  he  will 
uot  escape  the  death  of  the  impenitent." 

"Ah,  bravo!  Very  well,  then,  why  does  he 
wait  and  not  kill  me,  then?  Are  his  arms  too 
short?  Very  well  for  you,  Wassili,  you  11  get 
your    settlement.     And    Tiehka,    the    dog,   also. 

What  does  he  say?" 

"Everybody  speaks  evil." 

"  But  what  do  they  say?" 

"  It  is  wrong  to  repeat  it."  ^^ 

"What's  wrong?     Have  courage.     Speak! 

"But  they  say:  May  his  belly  burst  and  all  his 

entrails  come  out.'' 

Mikhail  Simenovitch  then  became  very  merry 

indeed. 

88 


f  out!" 

lelieve  in  God." 

jver,  that  he  has 

les  laughing. 

in  detail.      ^Vho 

silisay?" 

ik  ill  of  his  coni- 

lad  been  a  uiisuu- 

issili. 

3  rest." 

ikoiit!" 

}  says  that  he  will 

uiteut.'' 

en,  why  does   he 

A.re  his  arms  too 

''assili,   you'll  get 

I,    the    dog,   also. 


age.     Speak!" 
y  l)urst  and  all  his 

.ecame  vei-y  merry 


Tllli   TAl'EK 

"  We'll  see  whose  entrails  come  o\it  first.  Who 
was  ic  said  that?     Tichka?  " 

"  Hut  nobody  speaks  well ;  all  speak  ill,  and 
threaten." 

"  Very  well ;  and  I'ierre  Mikheer.  What  does 
he  sayV     He  iTises  me  too,  I  hopeV  " 

<'N(),    Miknail    SimeMOvitch,    Pierre    does    lot 

curse. " 

"And  what  d-eshe  do?" 

"  He  is  the  only  one  of  them  all  who  says  noth- 
ing. He  is  stranger.  I  have  looked  at  him  with 
much  surprise,  Mikhail  Simeuovitch." 

"And  why?" 

"  All  the  muzhiks  are  astonished  at  his  conduct." 

"  But  what  does  he  do?  " 

"  It  is  something  altogether  extraordinary.  As 
I  approached  he  was  working  on  a  measure  across 
near  the  Tourkine.  I  drew  near  him,  and  I  heard 
him  singing  in  a  voice  so  sweet,  so  pleasant!  And 
something  was  burning  on  his  plow." 

"  Well?  " 

"  It  burned  like  a  little  fire.  1  went  close,  and 
I  saw  a  five-kopek  taper  stuck  in  his  plow.  The 
taper  burned,  and  the  wind  did  not  put  it  out. 
And  he,  in  a  new  shirt,  worked  and  sang  psalms. 
Tho  ho  turned  and  moved  his  plow,  the  taper  did 
not  go  out.  He  shook  it  before  me,  and  changed 
the  share,  and  still  the  taper  did  not  go  out." 

"And  what  did  hq  say?" 
»9 


THK  TAl'ER 

"Nothing.     Only,  when  lie  saw  me,  ho  wished 
me  the  joy  of  the  H.-as..u,  ami  went  on  singing." 
"Did  you  talk  with  him?" 

"No  I'.ut  the  mu/hiks  came  up,  and  they 
laughed.  '  Look  there,'  they  said;  '  Mikheev  can 
never  pray  enough  ior  the  pardon  of  Ins  work  m 
Holy  Week.'" 

"  Aiul  what  did  he  answer?  " 
"Onlv  one  thing:  '  Peace  on  earth  to  men  of 
good   will!'     He   drew   his    plow,   called   to   his 
horse,  and  went  on  singing.     And  the  taper  burned 
all  the  time." 

The  manager  did  not  laugh  any  more.  He  let 
go  his  guitar,  dropped  his  head  on  his  breast,  and 
remained  buried  in  thought. 

For  some  time  he  remained  thus  absorbed. 
Then  ho  dismissed  the  cook  and  the  starost,  passed 
behind  the  screen,  threw  himself  on  his  bed,  and 
sighed  and  groaned  like  the  passing  of  a  hay- 
wagon,  r    i.   1  • 

His  wife  drew  near,  wishing  to  comfort  him. 
He  did  not  answer  her,  but  only  said:  "He  has 

conquered  me." 

"What!"  said  she.  "You  have  done  many 
other  things  and  you  never  had  this  fear.  Why 
are  you  afraid  now?" 

"I  am  lost,"  he  replied;  "he  has  overcome  me. 
00 


V  nu',  ho  wished 
t  on  singing." 

>  up,  anil  thoy 
;l;  '  Mikheev  can 
n  of  his  work  in 


earth  to  men  of 

w,   called   to   his 

the  taper  burned 


ny  more.     He  let 
m  his  breast,  and 

thus  absorbed. 
the  starost,  passed 
f  on  his  bed,  and 
lassing  of  a  hay- 


TllE  TArKR 

Go  away,  T  haven't  killed  you.     This  is  nuthing 
to  you.'"     And  he  did  not  rise. 

The  next  day,  however,  he  got  up  and  under- 
took to  live  as  before;  but  it  was  not  the  same 
Mikhail  Siiuenovitch.  It  seeniod  he  had  a  iire- 
sentinicnt  of  something.  He  drooped,  and  hardly 
went  out  at  all.  He  did  not  rule  nmch  longer. 
The  lord  came  soon,  and  asked  for  him.  "The 
manager  is  sick,"  it  was  reported.  The  nest  day 
he  was  still  sick.  The  lord  learned  that  lie  drank, 
and  then  ho  took  the  managenuMit  away  from  him. 

Then  Mikhail  Simenov;tch  did  nothing,  fretted 
more,  became  dirty,  drank  everything  he  had,  and 
fell  so  low  that  he  stole  his  wife's  clothes  and  took 
them  to  the  drinking-house.  The  muzhiks  them- 
selves pitied  hinv  and  gave  him  to  drink. 

At  the  end  of  a  year  he  died,  killed  by  drink. 


to  comfort  him. 
ily  said :  "  He  has 

have    done   many 
L  this  fear.     Why 


has  overcome  me. 


91 


How  Viardeau  Obeyed 
the  Black  Abb6 

By 

Charles  G.  D.  Roberts 

Illustrations 

By 

E.  W.  Demlng 


[BeprintetX  hy  jjermlaxiotv  <>f  the  author.] 


1. 
J" 


I 


HOW  VIARDEAU  OBEYED  THE 
BLACK  ABBfi 


The  time  was  night,  of  the  23d  of  Deceiubcr, 
1754.  The  place  was  a  spruce-forest  in  old  Aca- 
die,  or— as  its  new  masters,  the  English,  had  re- 
christened  it— Nova  Scotia. 

The  encampment  was  in  the  deep  snow  of  the 
Acadian  winter.  Nowh'^re  else  did  the  straight 
trunks  of  the  ancient  spruce  and  fir  trees  shoot  up 
so  gigantically  as  here.  In  the  fitful  red  illumi- 
nation of  tho  camp-fire  they  cast  goblin  thadows 
upon  the  band  of  Micmacs,  painted  savages  squat- 
ting on  their  haunches  about  the  blaze.  Standing 
very  erect,  near  the  fire,  was  the  spare  figure  of  La 
Game,  "The  Black  Abbe,"  bane  of  the  English, 
terror  of  the  Acadians,  shame  of  the  church,  but 
idol  of  his  savage  flock,  the  Micmacs  of  the  Shu- 
benacadie. 

The  ruddy  light,  falling  upon  his  face  as  he 
gazed  into  the  fire,  intensified  the  harsh  and  bitter 
lines  of  the  wide,  thin  mouth  and  indomitable  jaw, 
made  more  grotesque  than  fate  had  planned  it  the 

05 


HOW   YIAIIDEAU    01?EYED 


long,  bulb-tipped  nose;  deepened  with  abrupt 
shadows  the  frown  of  his  high,  narrow  fortiiead ; 
and  lit  a  cruel  red  spark  in  the  gleam  of  his  close- 
set  eyes.  Over  his  coarse,  furred  leggings  and 
stout  coat  of  Acadian  homespun,  he  wore  the  black 
soutane  of  that  priestly  office  which  he  dishonored. 

A  few  steps  back  of  the  half -circle  of  squatting 
and  grunting  savages  ■  tood  Jean  Viardeau,  leaning 
against  n  *-v<?'-^  \  „li  imnened  hands  clasped  over 
the  muzzle  of  his  musket.  A  short  but  athletic 
figure,  very  broad  in  the  shoulders,  with  stilf  black 
curls  crowding  irrepressibly  from  under  the  edge 
of  his  blue  woolen  toque,  he  would  have  been 
handsome  but  for  the  settled  clouJ  of  anger  on  his 
face.  He  was  a  man  with  a  grudge.  Vengeance 
upon  the  English  was  his  one  thought;  and  when 
vengeance  delayed,  resentment  deepened.  There 
had  been,  he  thought,  too  much  delay  in  this  camp 
among  the  fir-woods. 

There  was  no  wind.  The  flame  and  smoke 
went  straight  up,  toward  that  far,  black  hole  in 
the  forest  roof  where  through  two  great  stars 
sparkled  icily.  A  few  feet  from  the  main  fire 
was  a  heap  of  glowing  coals,  raked  forth  for  con- 
venience in  the  cooking;  and  from  the  unctuous 
sputter  of  the  broiling  bear's  meat  came  a  savor 
of  richness  somewhat  rank. 

Suddenly  the  dark  form  by  the  fire  turned,  and 
strode  over  to  the  young  Acadian 's  side.    Viardeau 

00 


KEYED 


THE   BLACK    ABBE 


u'd  with  abrupt 
narrow  fortaead ; 
learn  of  his  close- 
red  leggings  and 
he  wore  the  black 
ch  he  dishonored, 
sircle  of  squatting 
Viardeau, leaning 
nds  clasped  over 
jhort  but  athletic 
s,  with  stiff  black 
11  under  the  edge 
would  have  been 
iJ  of  anger  on  his 
idge.  Vengeance 
lought ;  and  when 
ieepened.  There 
lelay  in  this  camp 

Qanie  and  smoke 
:ar,  black  hole  in 
two  great  stars 
)m  the  main  fire 
ked  forth  for  con- 
I'om  the  unctuous 
leat  came  a  savor 

le  fire  turned,  and 
's  side.    Viardeau 


looked  up,  and  a  flash  of  expectancy  lightened  the 
gloom  of  his  square-jawed  face. 

"  Work  for  me  to  do?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"Work  for  you!  "  answered  the  priest,  shutting 
his  thin  lips,  and  pausing  to  eye  the  young  man 
with  an  atomizing  scrutiny  before  unfolding  his 
purpose. 

"  I  know,  my  son, "  he  went  on  in  a  moment  or 
two,  "  both  your  love  for  France  and  your  right- 
eous hatred  of  the  English.  We,— I,  anr'  you, 
and  a  few— alas,  too  few!— faithful  and  resolute 
like  ourselves— are  the  instruments  of  vengeance  on 
the  enemies  of  our  country.  You,  unlike  myself, 
have  a  personal  grudge  against  them,  I  believe!  " 

The  young  man's  eyes  flashed,  and  he  opened 
his  mouth  to  speak;  but  La  Game  continued: 

"  I  think  they  robbed  you  of  your  little  patri- 
mony. I  think,  too,  your  father  fell  by  an  Eng- 
lish sword,  by  the  banks  of  the  Tantramar.  But 
tliat  was  years  ago,  when  you  were  too  young  to 
remember !  " 

"  I  remember  it  as  if  it  had  been  yesterday !  I 
remember  my  mother's  tears!"  exclaimed  Viar- 
deau fiercely. 

"It  was  long  ago,"  went  on  the  Black  Abb^, 
"  and  it  was  in  fair  fight.  But  of  late,  I  think, 
the  English  have  been  kind  to  you.  Is  it  not  so? 
This  can  not  but  ease  your  bitterness  against  them 
in  some  measure !  " 

7  fl'i' 


HOW    VIARDEAU    OBEYED 

But  none  knew  l^otter  than  La  Game  the  fresh 
ness  of   Jeau  Viardeau's  injuries,   his  new  rage 
born  as  it  were  yesterday. 

"  Curse  them !  "  he  muttered  between  clenched 
teeth.  "  They  have  robbed  me  of  my  last  hope,  the 
stay  of  my  mother's  age.  I\Iy  hand  is  against  their 
name  and  race,  while  I  have  strength  to  lift  it  up!  ' 

"Why,  my  son,  what  is  this  new  injury?  As 
if  you  had  not  suffered  enough  from  the  usurper's 
violence!"  said  La  Game  softly,  with  a  sympa- 
thetic wonder  in  his  voice. 

» Did  you  not  hear  of  it,  father? "  exclaimed 
Viavdeau,  husky  with  the  vehemence  of  his  hate, 
"  They  seized  my  schooner,  the  Jielle  Marie,  with 
all  her  cargo  of  barley,  flax,  and  fish  bound  for 
Louisburg;  confiscated  them,  sold  them  in  Hali- 
fax. And  there  was  a  fortune  for  me  in  that 
cargo,  had  I  got  it  safe  to  Louisburg.  We  es- 
caped with  but  the   stuff  on  our  backs, —Louis, 

Tamin,  and  I!" 

"  Then  where  are  Louis  and  Tamin?  "  asked  the 

Black  Abbe. 

"Oh,"  cried  Jean  with  angry  scorn,  "back  at 
Grand  Pre,— smoking,  smoking,  talking,  talking, 
and  watching  the  pot  on  the  fire.  They  are  tame. 
They  are  not  men.     But  I-I  will  strike  back!  " 

"  You  shall  strike  at  once,  and  strike  hard,  my 
son!  "  said  the  Black  Abb^. 

"How?— When?" 

98 


r  A^.  ml 


lEYED 

Game  the  fresh 
3,   his  new  rage 

etwcen  clenched 
my  last  hope,  the 
d  is  agaiust  their 
jth  to  lift  it  up!-' 
lew  injury?  As 
•oiu  the  usurper's 
•,  with  a  synipa- 

her?  "  exclaimed 
ence  of  his  hate, 
Uelle  Marie,  with 
d  fish  bound  for 
id  them  in  Hali- 
e  for  me  in  that 
uisburg.  We  es- 
iT  backs,  — Louis, 

amin?  "  asked  the 

r  Bcorn,  "back  at 
,  talking,  talking, 
.     They  are  tame. 
11  strike  back!  " 
id  strike  hard,  my 


THE   BLACK   ABBE 

"To-night,  when  you  have  eaten,"  continued  La 
Game,  "  you  shall  take  one  of  my  faithful  follow- 
ers here,  and  meat  enough  in  your  pack  for  three 
days'  journey,  and  set  out  for  the  Nappan.  You 
know  the  little  marsh  where  the  Des  Itochers  brook 
flows  in.  On  the  upland  bordering  the  marsh  on 
the  south  an  PjUglish  settler  has  built  his  cabin. 
He  has  cleared  fields.  He  has  dyked  in  part  of 
the  marsh.  He  is  prospering.  Soon  other  English 
will  come  and  do  likewise,  setting  a  greedy  grasp 
upon  the  lands  of  our  people.  They  must  be  dis- 
couraged. Terror  must  seize  the  souls  of  any  that 
would  follow  them.  You  must  get  there  to-mor- 
row night,  Jean.  Not  one  of  them  must  see  the 
next  daybreak.  The  cabin  must  be  smoke  and 
ashes  under  the  next  sun.  The  lesson  must  be  one 
to  be  read  far  off.  If  these  robbers  will  not  spare 
our  lands  for  justice,  they  shall  for  fear." 

"  Will  we  two  be  enough  for  the  fight,  father?  " 
asked  Viardeau. 

"There  will  be  no  fight,  my  son,"  answered  La 
Game  coolly.  "There  is  but  one  Englishman; 
and  he  will  be  asletp.  It  is  simple.  And  I  have 
work  elsewhere  for  the  rest  of  these !  " 

"I  should  like  a  fair  fight!"  murmured  the 
young  man  doubtfully.  "  I  Avould  see  his  eyes. 
I  would  strike  him  down,  and  he  should  know  my 
vengeance.     I  like  not  stabbing  in  the  dark !  " 

"  So, — it  is  not  only  Tamin  and  Louis,"  said  Tia 
99 


n 


HOW   VIARDEAU    OHEYED 

Game  with  a  slow  sneer,  "who  can  '  talk,  t.vlk,' 
aud  '  sit  by  the  fire,'  and  foar  t.)  strike.  It  is 
enough,  Joan  Viavdeau;  you  Acadian.s  are  not 
men.     I  have  my  savages.     T  will  send  Sacobi  and 

Big  Paul.     They  are  men!     They " 

"You  speak  in  haste.  Father  La  Game!  "  broke 
in  Viardoau  hotly.  '•  I  v^iH  not  be  talked  to  s- 
\nd  I  will  go.  T  meant  to  go  from  the  first,  if 
you  had  no  fighting  for  me  to  do.  I  conld  do  you 
better  service  in  fighting;  and  your  redskins  c mid 
perhaps  do  L.-tter  at  stabinng  in  the  dark,  i.ut  1 
go.  Give  me  Sacobi.  He's  got  more  brains  than 
the  rest,  and  talks  French."  ^ 

Taking  no  notice  whatever  of  the  ymmg  man  s 
anger,  the  Black  Abbe  coolly  summoned  Sacoln 
from  his  place  beside  the  broiling  bear's  meat,  and 
proceeded  to  give  orders  for  tlie  conduct  of  the  en- 
terprise. Half  an  hour  later  Viardoau  and  his 
redskin  companion,  slipping  their  moccasined  toes 
under  the  moose-hide  thongs  of  their  snow-shoes, 
turned  their  backs  on  the  camp-fire  and  the  smells 
of  broiled  bear's  meat,  and  struck  off  into  the 
raoon-mottled  shadows  and  clean  balsamy  savors  of 

the  forest. 

Sacobi  was  a  lean,  active  savage,  a  head  taller 
than  the  Acadian,  but  of  slimmer  build.  Shrewd, 
quick-witted,  less  reticently  monosyllabic  than  bis 
fellows,  and  at  ease  in  the  Trench  tongue,  Viar- 
deau  regarded  him  as  the  one  Indian  tit  to  hold 

100 


iEYED 

can  '  talk,  r.vlk,' 
to  strike.  It  is 
.(•adiaii.s  are  not 
L  seiul  Sacobi  and 

f " 

ja  Game!"  broke 

bo  talked  to  so. 

from  the  first,  if 
.  I  could  do  you 
)iir  redskins  could 
the  dark.      But  1 

more  brains  than 

the  yming  man's 
fjummoned  Sacol)i 
g  bear's  meat,  and 
conduct  of  the  en- 
Viardeau  and  his 
ir  moccasined  toes 
their  snow-shoes, 
fire  and  the  smells 
truck  oft"  into  the 
1  bulsamy  savors  of 

vage,  a  head  taller 
er  build.  Shrewd, 
inosyllabic  than  bis 
2nch  tongue,  Viar- 
Indian  lit  to  hold 


THE   BLACK   AHBE 

spee-'h  with.  TluMe  was  little  speech  between 
them,  however,  on  that  night  march.  Tliero  was 
occupation  enough  for  thought  and  sense  in  pick- 
ing their  path  through  the  misleading  shadows. 
When  they  had  marched  perhaps  three  hours,  and 
the  moon  had  sunk  so  low  as  to  bo  no  longer  of 
uso  to  them,  they  halted,  dug  a  roomy  hole  in  the 
snow  with  the  snow-shoes,  built  a  fire  in  the  center 
of  the  cleared  space,  and  bivouacked  for  the  night. 

Viardeau  was  restless,  and  little  in  love  with  his 
undertaking.  Hence  it  came  that  he  slept  ill.  He 
was  not  one  to  set  his  hand  to  the  plow  and  look 
back,  however  ugly  might  seem  to  him  the  furrow 
he  was  doomed  to  turn.  Ihit  he  wanted  the  busi- 
ness done  quickly,  l^efore  dawn  he  had  aroused 
his  indiil'erent  comrade,  and  with  the  first  flood  of 
rose-pink  staining  the  eastern  faces  of  the  fir-trees, 
the  two  were  again  under  way.  The  snow  was 
firmly  packed,  the  snow-shoeing  easy;  and  Viar- 
deau's  bitter  impatience  brought  them  out  too  soon 
upon  the  edge  of  the  marsh  by  the  Nappan  water. 

It  was  a  little  after  sunset,  and  the  winter  night 
was  beginning  to  close  in.  The  channel  of  the 
Nappan,  at  half  tide  and  choked  with  muddy  ice- 
cakes,  groaned  in  shadow.  But  the  open  clearing 
beside  them,  with  its  blackened  slumps  upthrust 
through  mounds  and  curling  drifts  of  snow,  caught 
the  last  of  the  daylight.  Across  this  dying  pallor 
came  a  cheery  yellow  radiance  from  the  windows 

101 


HOW   VIARDEAl-    OBEYED 

of  tbe  settler's  oabi.i,  set  close  for  shelter  under 
the  forest-edge  at  the  north  side  of  the  clearing. 
Flanked  ',y  its  wide-eaved  log-barn  and  leav  -to 
shed,  it  nuule  a  honiely  picture  in  the  wilderness; 
and  Viardeau' 3  scowl  deepened. 

"Three-four  hours,  may  be,"  said  the  Indian, 
"  before  they  sleep  yoi-.der!  " 

"  Why  not  tackle  him  now,   ami  give    liun^  a 
chance  in  fair  fight?"  growled  tne  Acadian,  hn 
Bering  his  uuisket  impatiently. 

"No  fair  fight  now!"  retorted  Sacobi.      'Hm 
inside.     See  us  plain.     We  no  see  him!     All  on 

one  side! "  ,     r  * 

Viardeau  could  not  but  acknowledge  the  force  of 

this;  and  he  knew  the  nice  marksmanship  of  the 

English  settlers.  ,       <i  t 

"Rien,  Sacobi,"  he  assented  reluctantly,  1 
guess  that's  so,  all  right.  And  there's  only  the 
two  of  us,  so  we  can't  throw  ourselves  away.  But 
I  tell  you  there's  got  to  be  a  fair  fight,  ^^hen^ye 
get  the  blaze  going  we'll  wake  him  up  and  let  h.m 
come  out  to  take  his  chance.     No  knifing  in  the 

dark  for  me!"  _  .     ,    ..  ^i.-    „^„ 

The  Indian  looked  faintly  surprised  si  this  sen- 
timent; but  being  a  brave  man,  assented  wiUnj^ly 
enough.  As  long  as  the  command  of  the  B  ac^ 
Abbe  was  carried  out  he  was  content  that  Viar- 
deau, whom  he  admired,  should  be  suited  in  the 

manner  of  it. 

102 


SYED 

V  shelter  under 
.)f  tlie  clearing, 
.rn  and  leai  -to 
the  wilderness ; 

,aid  tho  Indian, 

nd   give   him   a 
tie  Acadian,  fin' 


Sacobi. 
36  liiml 


"  Him 
All  on 


edge  the  force  of 
Lsu\ans)'ip  of  the 

reluctantly,  "I 
there's  only  the 
}lves  away,  l^nt 
iigiil.  When  we 
m  up  ai;d  let  him 
STo  knifing  in  the 

irised  st  this  sen- 
assented  willingly 
land  of  the  Black 
iontent  that  Viar- 
.  be  suited  in  the 


THE  BLACK   ABBfi 

Cautiously  Viardeau  led  the  w;iy  around  the 
skirts  of  the  cie^nng,  and  into  the  dense  growth 
of  mixed  young  .id  old  timber  which  almost 
touched  the  roofs  upon  t.ie  north.  From  this  post 
of  vantage  they  could  survey  the  situation  and  lay 
their  deadly  plans.  They  commanded  a  vit-w  of 
the  front  of  the  cabin,  and  of  a  beaten  trail  run- 
ning down  the  gentle  slope  from  the  doorway  to 
a  narrow  opening  in  the  opposite  woods.  A  very 
bright  light  shone  down  the  trail  from  the  cal)in 
windows. 

"  That  must  be  the  trail  to  Des  Kochers  village," 
whispered  Viardeau. 

T'he  savage  grunted  asstnt;  an<l  then  muttered: 

"  Wliy  make  so  great  light?  " 

"It  is  the  eve  of  Noel,  you  know!"  answered 

the  Acadian  with  some  surprise.      "  C/iristmas  h'rc 

the  English  call  it;  and  it  is  a  great  festival  with 

them,  even  moio  uiian  with  us!" 

"  See  candles,  many  candles,  in  window !  "  went 
on  the  savage,  still  puzzled. 

"  Ah,  somebody  is  expected!  "  replied  Viardeau, 
at  once  growing  more  interested.  "Somebody 
more  to  fight!  A  good  fight,  maybe,  after  all! 
Eh,  my  Sacobi?  " 

"Good  fight,  no  fight,— all  same  to  me,  so  long 
as  job  done  and  Black  Father  satisfied,"  said  the 
Indian  with  a  large  indifference. 

Just  then  the  door  opened,  and  a  woman  stood 
103 


rl 


HOW    VIAKDEAU    OBEYED 

in  tlie  tloorway,  peoriut,'  aiixiouHly  down  tlio  trail. 
Framed  willi  tlio  light  as  she  was,  and  Iht  faco 
thert'foro  ensha<l()wed,  lu(r  featurt-a  oould  in  no 
way  be  distingnislied.  Hut  the  form  was  that  of 
a  slender  ^irl. 

At  this   sight  Viardcau   growled    an    impatient 
curse.      His  eompanion  understood  it. 

«'  No  i)risoners !  "  he  grunted.     "  No  time  for  pris- 
oners!     That' a  less  trouble!  " 

And  he  mule  a  signilicant  gesture  at  his  scalp- 
lock. 

Viardeau  started. 

"No!  "  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  icy  conclusiveness, 
"  none  of  that,  my  friend !     There  will  be  a  prison- 
er.    I  will  have  no  murder  of  women  or  children !  " 
The  savage  looked  at  him  askance.     There  were 
unknown  (juantities  in  this  Acadian  which  his  less 
complex  brain  had  not  yet  estimated.     15ut  he  was 
an  astute  savage,  and  saw  nothing  to  be  proiited 
by  argument.      It  was  clear,  however,  to  him  that 
Viardeau  was  angry  at  finding  there  was  a  woman 
to  be  reckoned  with.     Presently  he  saw  Viardeau 
smile.     How  could  his  wrath  vanish  so  rapidly? 
Sacobi  could  not  grasp  tlu-  tpiiek  workings  of  his 
companion's  mind.     It  had  occurred  to  Viardeau 
that  to  save  the  woman's  life  would  in  some  degree 
compensate  for  the  treachery  of  the  business  to 
which  La  Game  and  his  own  viudictiveness  had 

committed  him. 

104 


rtEVEl) 

,'  ilowii  tlio  trail, 
as,  ami  Iht  faco 
irea  ooiild  in  "O 
foiin  was  that  of 

I'd    an    impatient 

(I  it. 

'  No  time  for  pris- 

;ure  at  liia  scalp- 


py  conclusiveness, 
3  will  be  a  piison- 
iien  or  children !  " 
nice.     There  were 
ian  which  his  less 
ited.     Hut  he  was 
ng  to  be  prolited 
vever,  to  hini  that 
here  was  a  woman 
I  he  saw  Viardeau 
auish  so  rapidly? 
:'k  workings  of  his 
urred  to  Viardeau 
uld  in  some  degree 
)f  the  business  to 
viudictiveness  had 


THK    I  SLACK    AIM'.fi 

While  he  w;i3  revolving  tliis  thought,  ami  deriv- 
ing much  satiNfai'tion  therefrom,  ho  was  fairly 
startled  by  a  sound  from  across  the  clearing.  A 
piercing  and  piteous  scream,  a  diild's  scieam  of 
inoital  terror  and  despair,  thrilled  througii  the 
evening  cpiietude.  .Jean  Viardeau  instinctively 
sprang  forward  clutching  his  musket. 

At  the  foot  (if  the  slope,  whore  tins  Dcs  liochers 
trail  emerged  from  the  woods,  came  into  view  the 
small  tigure  of  a  child,  running  for  life. 

In  a  second  it  came  into  tlie  line  of  light.  It 
was  a  little  boy.  i  lis  st  urdy  legs  were  all  too  short 
for  the  speed  rotpnred  of  them.  In  one  mittened 
fist  ho  frantii^iUy  clutciifd  the  handle  of  a  small 
wooden  bucket.  His  light  cuils  .streamed  out  be- 
hind his  shoiddeis,  from  under  his  woolen  cap. 
And  now  Viardeau  saw  his  little  round  face,  the 
eyes,  wide  with  awful  fear  and  hopeless  appeal 
fixed  upon  the  lighted  windows  of  home. 

At  the  sight  of  tliat  childish  agony,  .lean  Viar- 
deau's  heart  came  uncomfortably  into  his  throat. 
lie  had  never  been  at  ease  when  he  saw  a  child  sutfer. 

"  What  can  have  scared  the  tot?  "  he  murmured 
to  himself. 

lUit  oven  as  he  asked  it,  he  was  answered. 

Out  from  tlie  darkness  of  the  trail  came  a  wolf, 
galloping  low,  mu/./le  down,  tongue  lolling  from 
the  fangs.  And  after  lnui  two  more,  close  upon 
the  leader's  gaunt  flanks. 

lO.'i 


HOW    VIAKDKAr    OHKYKD 

Viardeiiu  aarod  iiol  lire.  The  cliild  was  in  a 
line  Imtwoon  IiIh  tmiHk.'t  iiml  the  wolves.  Hut  he 
(lid  not  i.Jiusc  to  wfij,'l>  Mill  c'ousisUiify  of  his  uc- 
lion.  Mis  tl.n.iit  iicliiiiK  with  pity,  ho  (hishcd  down 
ti.o  k1o1)c,  alioutiMg  to  Iho  child  that  he  would  save 

Upon  tho  liope  of  help  iho  littlo  fellow's  HtroiiRth 
all  at  one-  gavv  way.  His  knvvn  tailed  him,  and 
In,  fell  heaiUong,  face  in  the  snow;  and  Viardeau 

groaned. 

Hut  at  that  great  shout  tho  wolves  paused,  wa- 
vered an  instant.  It  was  hut  an  instant,  and  they 
sprang  again  to  the  attaek,  seeing  a  single  foe  be- 
fore them.  Hut  that  instant  was  eno<igh.  Viar- 
deau  was  already  between  them  and  tlieir  qnarry. 

Hefore  they  fonld  leap  upon  him  ho  tired,  and 
one  sank  ki(diing  on  the  snow.  The  fangs  of  tho 
next  were  fairly  at  hia  throat,  ere  his  long  knife, 
driven  upward  with  a  trenu'ndous  short-arm  stroke, 
went  through  the  mad  beast's  gullet  and  reached  the 
brain.  Hut  the  heavy  onrush  at  the  same  moment 
all  but  overbalanced  him;  and  in  tho  wrench  to 
keep  his  feet  he  swung  violently  aside,  still  cling- 
ing to  the  knife-hilt  where  it  stuck  fast  in  his 
adversary's  neck. 

That  swing  probably  saved  Viardean;  for  the 
leap  of  the  third  wolf  fell  short.  Its  jaws  clashed 
like  a  trap,  but  merely  plowed  a  furrow  in  the 
flesh  of  his  shoulder,  and  gained  no  damaging  grip. 

106 


;yei) 

'liild  was  in  n 
jlves.  Hut  he 
I'licy  (if  l>i^  i^^' 

W  llilHlu'll  tluWIl 

,  he  wouUl  save 

■How's  HtVt'IlRth 

ailed  liiiii,  and 
;  and  Viardeau 

ve3  pauspd,  wa- 
istant,  and  they 
a  single  foe  be- 
enough.     Viav 
id  their  quarry. 
Ill  ho  lived,  and 
I'ho  i'angn  of  the 
his  h'ug  knife, 
liort-arni  slvokc, 
,  and  reached  the 
lie  same  moment 
1  the  wrench  to 
xside,  still  cling- 
Luck  fast  in  his 

iardeau;  for  the 

Its  jaws  clashed 

a  furrow  in  the 

o  damaging  grip. 


'IIIK    III.ACK    AI'.ltF, 

In  the  same  second  the  brute  caught  sight  of  the 
hmg  form  of  Sacohi,  Inping  dovsn  to  the  rescue; 
and  wheeling  will,  a  li.'ire  snarl,  it  lied  for  the 
woods.  Hefore  it  had  gone  ten  paces  the  Indian's 
iiuiHket  crashed,  and  th>  lean  gray  l.ody,  stretch- 
ing OH  the  gallop,  suddenly  (h.ul.led  up  iut<.  a  shud- 
dering  heap  of  fur. 

"Well  done,  my  brother!"  panted  VianU^au, 
shaking  himself  like  ii  dog  just  from  iho  water. 
Tlicn  ho  ran  to  pick  np  the  boy,  who  still  lay  face 
downward,  shaking  and  sobbing.  ^ 

"  There,  there!  Don't  be  scared,  sonny,  they  re 
all  killed!"  ho  said  gently  iii  Knglish,  lifting  the 
poor  little  figure.  I'.ut  at  the  sound  of  the  kind 
vice  the  sobs  broke  into  violent  crying.  'I  he 
child  clung  convnlsively  to  his  neck,  and  hid  his 
face  in  the  ((omforting  hmuesinin  bosom. 

"There,  there,  I'll  tak.'  yon  home,"  he  went  on 
soothingly,  all-foigetful  of  his  grim  erraiul. 

"Oh,  thank  (Jod  you  were  in  time!  God  bless 
y.m!  God  ir!//  bless  y,.u,-sir! "  exclaimed  a 
choking  voice  at  his  elbow. 

He  turned,  somewhat  embarrassed  by  the  cling- 
ing arms,  and  saw  the  young  girl  who  had  stood  in 
the  doorway.  She  was  trembling  so  that  she  could 
scarcely  stand  up;  and  her  face  was  ashen  white. 
The  light  from  the  door,  which  stood  wide  open, 
shone  full  upon  her;  and  for  all  her  j.allor  Viar- 
deau's  first  thought  was  that  m^ver  before  had  he 

107 


HOW   VIAUDEAU    OBEYED 

seen  such  :i  face.  Smooth,  heavy  masses  of  fair 
hair,  ruddy  in  the  candle  light,  were  drawn  low  to 
either  side  of  a  very  broad,  low  forehead,  and  half 
covered  the  small  ears.  The  eyes,  astonishingly 
laj-ge,  and  now  wide  with  agitation,  were  set  far 
apart,  and  seemed  to  Yiardeau  like  pools  of  liquid 
darkness.  The  short  upper  lip  and  short,  upturned 
chin  made  Viardeau  think,  even  iu  that  moment, 
of  an  old  Venetian  coin  which  he  had  taken  in  the 
way  of  trade  one  day  at  Louisburg,  and  for  its 
beauty  had  kept  by  him  ever  since. 

Jean  Viardeau  was  more  disturbed  than  he  had 
been  by  the  wolves. 

"  It  was  nothing,  miss- they  were  only  wolves!  " 
he  stammered.  '•  Shall  I  carry  the  little  fellow  up 
to  the  house  for  you?"  And  he  sorted  up  the 
lighted  slope  with  his  burden. 

All  the  time,  however,  he  kept  a  sidelong  gaze 
upon  the  girl  who  walked  at  his  side. 

"Oh,"  she  cried  again,  in  a  poignant  voice, 
pressing  her  hands  to  her  eyes  as  if  she  would 
shut  out  a  vision  of  horror.  "If  you  had  not 
come!     If  you  had  not  come  in  time!  " 

Then  she  reached  out  her  arms  to  the  child. 
"Cone  to  me,  Boysie!  Como  to  me!"  she  en- 
treated. 

But  the  boy  clung  the  tighter  to  Viardeau  s 
neck.  And  the  young  Acadian  glowed  with  an 
absurd  warmth  of  satisfaction  at  the  preference. 

108 


$EVED 

y  masses  of  fair 
ere  drawn  low  to  , 
reliead,  ami  half 
es,  astonishingly 
on,  were  set  far 
e  pools  of  liquid 
1  short,  upturned 
ill  that  moment, 
had  taken  in  the 
)urg,  and  for  its 
e. 
I'bed  than  he  had 

ere  only  wolves !  " 
le  little  fellow  up 
le  skirted  up  the 

3t  a  sidelong  gaze 
side. 

I  poignant  voice, 
1  as  if  she  would 
'If  you  had  not 
ime!" 

rms  to  the  child, 
to  me ! "  she  en- 

iter  to  Viardeau's 
1  glowed  with  an 
,  the  preference. 


THE   BLACK   ABBE 

"How  did  I  let  him  go  so  far  ahnip,  and  so 
late'^ ''  she  went  on,  repioaching  herself,  with  no 
tears,  but  hard,  choking  sobs.  "  And  the  wolves. 
Father  always  said  there  were  no  wolves  ni  Nova 

Scotia!" 

»  The  hard  winter,  the  deep  snow  so  early,  that  s 
driven  them  in,  from  over  the  >'eck,  miss!  "  spoke 

Viardeau.  c,-,     ^ 

By  this  they  were  come  to  the  house.     bUently 
the  Indian  stalked  in  after  them,  seated  himself 
bv  the  great  open  fire,  and  gazed  into  it  with  un- 
winking eves.     The  clnUl  had  by  this  time  recov- 
ered himself  somewhat,  and  stood  upon  his  feet, 
releasing  Viardeau   from  tlie    solid    burden  of  a 
sturdy  lad  of  eight.     lUit  he  kept  close  to  his  pro- 
tector's side,  and  shivered  if  the  latter  moved  a 
foot's  length   away  from   him.     Playing  with   a 
rude  wooden  doll,  near  the  hearth,  sat  a  little  tlax- 
haired  "irl  of  five  or  six.     Looking  up,  she  smiled 
indulgently   upon   the   visitors.     Then    her    look 
changed  to  one  of  deep  concern.     Jumping  to  her 
feet   she  ran  over  to  Viardeau  and  seized  his  hand. 
"Poor  man!     Poor  man! '"  she  cried  earnestly. 
"  Oh,  what  bit  you?    Oh,  the  blood!  " 

Bewildered  bv  his  emotions,  and  by  the  events 
which  had  brought  him  as  a  trusted  protector  into 
the  household  which  he  was  sent  to  destroy,  Jean 
Viardeau  had  not  noticed  his  wound;  but  now  he 
awoke  to  the  burning  throb  of  it.     Instantly  the 

109 


now   VIARDEAU   OKEVED 

tall  girl  was  at  his  side,  her  eyes  brimming  with 
tears  of  self-reproach. 

"All  I'vo  thought  of  has  beeu  Boysie  and  my- 
self!"  she  cried.  "Forgive  me.  Sit  here,  sir.  I 
must  dress  it  for  you!  Oh,  but  your  poor  shoul- 
der is  so  badly  torn !     rimsc  sit  dowu !  " 

r,ut  Viardeau  was  now  wide  awake.  He  saw 
for  the  first  time  in  all  its  hideousness  the  work 
which  had  been  set  him.     He  shook  at  the  thought 

of  it. 

"No,  miss,"  ho  answered,  growing  white  about 
the  lips.  "  It  is  nothing.  We  have  far  to  go. 
We  must  go  at  once!  "  And  firmly  he  unclasped 
the  child's  fingers  from  the  flap  of  his  woolen 

capote. 

The  girl's  level  brows  went  up  in  wonder  and 

displea.sure. 

"You  can  not  go,  sir,  till  I  dress  your  wound! 
And  gently,  but  with  a  certain  positive  authority, 
she  pushed  him  toward  a  settle.  "You  can  not 
go  till  we  have  supper.  You  can  not  go  till  my 
father  comes,  to  thank  you  for  saving  the  life  of 
hia  only  son.  When  father  comes,  he  will  keep 
you,  to  help  us  celebrate  this  happy  Christmas, 
which  but  for  you "  and  with  a  passionate  ges- 
ture she  covered  her  eyes  again,  nor  trusted  herself 
to  say  what  would  have  been  but  for  him. 

Viardeau  felt  that  the  wound— a  tearing  gash- 
should  be  dressed.     And  her  fingers  were  very  soft 

11.0 


'-U. 


EYED 

I  brimming  with 

Boysie  and  my- 
Sit  here,  sir.  I 
your  poor  shoul- 
owu! " 

iwake.  He  saw 
lusness  the  work 
)k  at  the  thought 

ring  white  about 
have  far  to  go. 
nly  he  unclasped 
p  of  his  woolen 

p  in  wonder  and 

iss  your  wound !  " 
ositive  authority, 
"  You  can  not 
n  not  go  till  my 
saving  the  life  of 
mes,  he  will  keep 
bappy  Christmas, 
1  a  passionate  ges- 
lor  trusted  herself 
;  for  him. 

—a  tearing  gash — 
jers  were  very  soft 


1  -  [ 

1      V       u 


TILE  BLACK  ABBfi 

and  cool  to  the  angry  tlesh.  Jle  looked  at  Sacobi; 
but  the  savage  sat  like  a  statue,  gazing  into  the 
fire.  The  young  man  yielded.  Tie  would  go  right 
afterward. 

At  this  moment  the  steps  of  a  heavy  runner  came 
up  to  the  door.  The  door  was  dashed  open.  A 
big,  ruddy  man,  light-haired,  gray-eyed,  frank  of 
countenance,  carrying  a  heavy  pack,  burst  in. 
The  pack  fell  by  the  door  with  a  tliud,  and  he 
sprang  across  the  room  to  crush  the  boy  to  his 
heart.  His  father  instinct  had  told  him  the  situa- 
tion at  once.     Then  he  held  out  his  hand  to  Viar- 

deau. 

"God  reward  you,  stranger!"  he  exclaimed  in 
a  deep  voice  that  tlirilled  with  fervor.  "  I  see  a 
bit  of  what's  happened.  I  heerd  the  shots.  I 
seen  the  carcases  out  tliere.  And  I  reckon  you've 
saved  for  me  what's  more'n  my  life!  Now,  tell 
me  all  about  it,  Marjy,  my  girl !  "—and  he  stopped, 
panting,  and  hugely  out  of  breatl . 

"It  was  nothing!  It  was  all  in  the  way  of  a 
day's  hunt!  "  interposed  Viardeau  hastily. 

But  the  girl  Marjory,  breaking  in  indignantly, 
told  the  story  as  it  was ;  and  the  boy,  forsaking 
his  father,  emphasized  it  by  running  to  cling  again 
to  Viardeau' s  side. 

The  big  man's  eyes  were  wet.  He  came  and 
wrung  Viardeau's  hand  once  more. 

"  I  "—he  stopped  with  a  gulp,—"  I  see  jest  how 
111 


l! 


HOW  VIARDKAU   OBEYED 

it  was'  "  bo  criocl.    "  You  can't  thank  a  man  that's 
done  what  you've  done  for  n>o  this  nig|>t  stn^nger 
Ent-but-ii;  over  you  want  a  fneud,  why,    1  m 
J     nBlt,_and  I'd  give  my  right  hand  for  y.. 

-I'd-Marjy,  my  girl,  make  haste  now  and  ge 
supper.    ^Ye're  all  hungry,  I  reckon!    Eh,  s.ssy 
Am    to  hide  his  en,otion  ho  snatched  up  the  littlo 
gi"  with  her  wooden  doll,  and  began  careermg 
bointevously  up  and  down  the  room. 

iJter  a  minute  ov  two  of  this  he  quieted  down. 

<<Isay,stvangn,itwasGod  Himself  that  sent 

you   I  allow,-' said  he.     "  But  where  m  thunde. 
S'youcomefrom,sointhonickestoftuue? 

Jean  Viavdeau  could  stand  it  no  longer.      Hub 

gratitude,  trust,  devotion,  were  ^^^^f  ^^^ 

the  ground.     He  arose,  and  putting  out  h  s  left 

.d  in  nervousness,  he  ungrasped  the  child's  arm 

and  held  it  tight,  consciously,  while  ho  spok  • 

"  John  Brant,"  said  he,  "  stop  this  grati  ude.  I 
.ill  not  eat  of  your  bread.  T  will  leave  this  roo 
L  soon  as  I  have  spoken.  ^  ^  ^^ ^^ 
you  Should  bear  to  look  upon  me.  Whexe  did  1 
oomefrom-'  Not  from  God.  From  the  dev^l !  I 
came  fo  murder.     I  was  sent  to  destroy  this  house, 

'""  Wen"  I'll  be "  gapped  the  big  man,  sitting 

down  and  staring,  while  anger,  astoni^shment,  a.id 
aTort  of  sick  horror  chased  each  other  over  his 

broad  face. 

112 


L 


r 


iilc  a  man  that's 
night,  stranger, 
lend,  why,  I'm 
it  hand  for  yon, 
te  now  and  get 
m!  Eh,  sissy?" 
hed  up  the  littlo 
began  careering 

a. 

a  quieted  down, 
liniself  tliat  sent 
rhere  in  thunder 
:est  of  time?  " 
no  h)nger.     This 
crushing  him  to 
ting  out  his  left 
id  the  chihl's  arm 
lile  ho  spoke, 
this  gratitude.     I 
ill  leave  this  roof 
1  not  deserve  that 
,e.      Where  did  I 
'rom  the  devil !     I 
destroy  this  house, 

;he  big  man,  sitting 

astonishment,  and 

ach  otlier  over  his 


THE   BLACK    ABBfi 

Now  Sacobi,  as  it  chanced,  understood  English, 
tho  he  could  not  speak  it.  At  the  first  of  Viar- 
deau's  passionate  speech  he  had  turned,  his  eyes 
ablaze  with  scorn.  As  the  young  man  went  on, 
the  Indian  slipped  noiselessly  toward  the  door. 
No  one  heeded  him.  Over  the  big  Englishman  s 
shoulder  Yiardeau  saw  him  open  the  door  and  van- 
ish into  the  night.  He  had  no  wish  to  hnider 
that  flight.  He  went  on  with  his  self-denuncia- 
tion. 

"Before  morning  this  house  would  have  been 
ashes,  you  a  dead  man,  your  children  captives- 
had  I  done  what  I  was  sent  to  do!"  concluded 
Viardeau,  dropping  his  head,  not  daring  to  meet 
the  look  which  he  felt  must  be  in  Marjory  Brant  s 

eyes. 

There  was  a  silence  when  he  stopped— a  silence 
that  seemed  to  overtop  and  bear  him  down.  Then 
he  saw  the  girl  had  come  to  his  side-waa  standing 
close  by  him. 

"You  didn't  know!"  she  said  softly.  You 
came  to  bring  us  death;  but  you  brought  usHfe, 
-nd  shed  your  own  blood  for  a  stranger  child." 

"Eight  you  are,  Marjy,  my  girl!"  exclaimed 
the  big  man,  springing  up  to  yet  once  more  wring 
the  hand  that  had  saved  his  son.  "Cheer  up, 
man!  Don't  look  so  down!  Your  heart's  m  the 
right  place.  What  care  I  for  all  you  thoiu/H  you 
was  goin'  to  do?  You're  the  man  in  all  the  world 
8  118 


1) 


THE   BLA.CK   ABBfi 

for  vie,  that's  what.  You'vo  given  me  my  boy- 
Come,  come,  supper,  my  girl!  Shall  we  starve  on 
Christmas  eve?     Where's  your  Injm?  " 

"  He  didn't  see  it  just  as  1  did,"  answered  Viar- 
deau.     "He's  gone!" 

"  Best  place  for  him!  "  said  John  Brant  heartily. 
"He'd    have   been  dreadfully  in  the  way  for 
Christmas!"    said   Marjory,  laughing  into  Viar- 
deau's  eyes. 


114 


r 


en  me  my  boy. 
lall  we  starve  on 

jin?" 

'  answered  Viar- 

ti  Brant  heartily, 
in  the  way  for 
hing  into  Viar- 


John  Merrill's  Experiment 
in  Palmistry 

By 

Florence  M.  Kingsley 

Illustrations 

By 

Florence  Carlyle 


115 


«!' 


W. 


■itMlW^w^'lV- 


JOHN  MERRILL'S  EXPLRIMLNT 
IN  RALMlSTllY 


John  Mk.uimm,  sat  in  his  sanctum,  his  desk  piled 
high  with  letters,  maimscTipts,  proof-sheets,  and 
other  material  necessary  to  the  production  of  The 
Wci'klij  Prnfrst,  a  journal  devoted  to  the  best  in- 
terests of  mankind  in  general,  and  in  particular  to 
the  extermination  of  machine  politics,  corner  sa- 
loons, and  breweries. 

In  spite  of  its  unpopular  aims,  however.  The 
Protest  was  a  popular  sheet,  for  it  boasted  in  the 
person  of  its  editor  a  genuine  humorist.  John 
Merrill  always  saw  the  ludicrous  side  of  every- 
thing, and  this  tendency  of  his  crept  into  his 
would-be  solemn  editorials,  and  peeped  out  on 
every  page,  so  that  even  in  the  saloons  one  might 
see  a  group  of  men  laughing  over  the  latest  edi- 
tion of  The  Protest,  which  tickled  their  sense  of 
humor,  while  it  belabored  their  bottles  and  barrels 
with  no  tender  hand. 

On  the  occasion  of  which  I  speak,  the  editor  had 
just    finished    a    particularly    telling    editorial. 

117 


: 


JOHN  MEUIULI/S  kxi'eiump:nt 

"That'll  IVtch  'fin,"  lio  reiuarUfil  to  hiiuHflf  with 
a  clmcklo,  as  he  wrotH  tho  last  liiu>  with  a  tloiir- 
iah.  "It  do'sn'l.  li'ave  Tin-  lUiihj  Svmtrhn  a  leg 
to  Btaiul  oil  nor  a  foot  to  scratch  with.  It'  Simp- 
kins  only  knew  ciionj*!!  to  aiiiircciato  tho  fact  that 
lio  was  imnierly  niljbed  down;  but,  for  liopi'lesa 
idiocy  well  mixed  with  asiniuo  ohtusenoas,  recom- 
mend m«  to  Sinipkins  of  The  Srmtclnr.  Hallo, 
what's  wanted?  "  this  last  to  th^  jtlico  hoy. 
"A — a-  somebody  to  see  yon,  air." 
"Show  'em  in,  show  'em  in,"  said  John  Morrill 
briskly;  "and  give  this  copy  to  Thatcher." 

Tho  next  niinuto  lie  was  staring  at  a  small  fig- 
ure, which  looked  as  tho  it  might  hiivo  strayed  out 
from  tho  oi)Gn  pages  of  a  fairy  book.  The  otlice 
boy,  who  had  lingered  to  observe  the  effect  of  the 
visitor,  retired,  doubled  uj)  with  an  irrepressible 
fit  of  the  giggles. 

"Oh,  I  say  now  who  are  you?"  said  John 
Merrill. 

The  newcomer— a  diminutive  black  boy,  attired 
in  a  cos;umo  of  scarlet  and  purple,  gorgeous  to 
look  upon— performed  an  obeisance  suggestive  of 
the  most  profound  respect,  5ind  presented  a  large 
white  envelope.  A  strange,  spicy  perfume  floated 
out  from  the  sheet  as  the  editor  slowly  unfolded  it. 
"'Honored  and  Kevered  Sir, '"  he  began ;  "'I 
kiss  the  hem  of  your  distinguished  garment' — 
What  the  deuce?—'  I  have  the  sublime  pleasure 

118 


Uw 


ItlMKNT 

,()  liinist'lf  with 
lie  with  ii  llom- 
Svrutchn  a  leg 
ith.  If  Himp- 
to  tho  fact  tliiit 
it,  for  liopi'lesa 
usenesa,  lecom- 
•ntchir.  Hallo, 
jtlico  boy. 
r." 

id  John  Morrill 
atfihev." 
at  ii  small  tig- 
iiivo  strayed  out 
K)k.  The  office 
the  effect  of  the 
an  irrepressible 

1?"    said   John 

ick  boy,  attired 
pie,  gorgeous  to 
ce  suggestive  of 
ireseuted  a  large 
perfume  floated 
wly  unfolded  it. 
'he  began;  "'I 
lied  garment ' — ■ 
Hiblime  pleasure 


IN  VALMISTRV 

had  of  what  you  rail  advottiso  in  your  J'mfrst, 
oiicf,  Iwioi',  thri'e  times,  for  my  great,  grand,  won- 
derful art  of  palmistry.  I  now  crave  also  a  boon, 
honored  sir,  to  read  what  Fate  has  eugravi-d  upon 
your  palm.  Do  me  tln-rofore  the  distinguished 
lionor  to  come  to  my  nalon,  and  I  freely  read  for 
you  past  things  and  thing.s  darkly  hid  by  tho  veil 
of  tho  future,  yet  clear  and  plain  to  my  eyes  us  if 
writ  on  paper.  The  slave  will  comluct  you,  sliould 
you  conde.scend  to  heed  my  prayer,  With  my 
forehead  in  the  dust,  distinguished  sav.-int,  I  kiss 
your  feet,  as  becometh  your  liase  servant,  I'alinad, 
sou  of  ThutmeH.' 

"Tra-la-la!"  said  John  Merrill,  when  he  had 
finished  reading  his  epistle,  "  I'll  go!  Here  you, 
minion  of  I'alnuul,  .ionduet  me,  I  command  thee, 
to  the  presoneo  of  thy  h)rd.  And  no  monkey- 
shines  by  the  way,  or  I  bowstring  thee." 

The  boy  displayed  a  mouthful  of  shining  ivories, 
his  great  black  eyes  rolling  in  the  lawless  fashion 
peculiar  to  his  race;  then  he  winked  rapidly  and 
shook  his  head. 

"  1  perceive  that  you  do  not  understand  the  Eng- 
lish language,  my  young  friend,"  said  the  editor 
thoughtfully,  as  he  glanced  at  his  watch,  '|so  I 
will  merely  request  that  you  get  a  '  hustle  on  ' ;  for 
I  must  be  back  within  an  hour." 

The  boy  started  off  at  such  a  tremendous  pace 
that  John  Merrill  had  great  ado  to  keep  up  with 

119 


II 


JOHN  MERRILL'S  EXPERIMENT 

him  as  he  darted  in  and  out  through  the  crowd.  He 
managed,  however,  to  keep  his  eye  pinned  to  the 
active  red  turban,  which  presently  came  to  a  stand, 
still  before  a  ilight  of  steps,  leading  up  to  one  of 
those  dubious  ediiices  once  fashionable  residences, 
but  long  since  abandoned  to  the  stealthy  upward 
trend  of  business.  Following  his  guide  up  the 
winding  staircase,  the  adventurous  editor  of  The 
Protest  fouiul  himself  before  a  door,  on  which  was 
inscribed  in  letters  of  gold,  half  a  foot  long,  "Pal- 
mad,  the  Seer. " 

This   door,  which    swung    open   at    the   boy's 
knock,  revealed  an  interior  so  strange  and  fantas- 
tic that  the  visitor  found  himself  walking  softly, 
hat  in  hand.     The  subdued  light  from  a  pair  of 
heavily  draped  windows  shone  through  a  haze  of 
aromatic  smoke,  stealing  upward  in  i.ght  wreaths 
from  a  censer  swung  before  an  image  of  the  sleep- 
ing Uuddha;  about  the  neck  of  the  god  reposed  a 
garland  of  lotus  blooms,  apparently  fresh  gathei'ed. 
The  walls  were  covered  with  Eastern  draperies, 
and  further  adorned  with  groups  of  strange  weap- 
ons and  bits  of  barbaric  pottery,  in  fantastic  shapes 
and  colori-igs.     Chairs  there  were  none,  but  luxu- 
rious divans  against  the  wall  were  heaped  high 
with  parti-colored  cushions.     John  Merrill  paused 
in  front  of  the  image  of  Buddha,  and  looked  about 
him  somewhat  impatiently.     "  So  far,  good-and 
good  as  a  circus ;  but  where  is  the  chief  performer?  " 

120 


MMENT 

;he  crowd.  He 
pinned  to  the 
anio  to  a  stand. 
T  up  to  one  of 
ible  residences, 
tealthy  upward 
guide  up  the 
1  editor  of  The 
■,  on  which  was 
out  long,  "  Pal- 

at  the  boy's 
ige  and  fantas- 
walking  softly, 

from  a  pair  of 
rough  a  haze  of 
n  i.ght  wreaths 
ige  of  the  sleep- 
le  god  reposed  a 
■  freoh  gathered, 
stern  draperies, 
)f  strange  weap- 
fantastic  shapes 
none,  but  luxu- 
ire  heaped  high 
:i  Merrill  paused 
md  looked  about 
I  far,  good — and 
lief  performer?" 


IN  1'A.LMISTRY 

Then  behig  qnite  unabashed  after  his  prolonged 
survt>y,  he  raised  his  voice  and  shouted,  "  Taluiad, 
son  of  Thutmes,  come  forth !  " 

Immediately  the  heavy  curtains  which  concealed 
one  end  of  the  room  parted,  and  the  figure  of  a 
man,  tall,  slender,  and  sinuous,  clad  in  the  snowy 
robes  and  turban  of  an  Oriental,  came  slowly  down 
the  room.  This  individual  ran  his  quick  black 
eye  over  the  stalwart  figure  before  him,  then,  bow- 
ing himself  almost  to  the  ground,  he  seized  his 
visitor's  miglovod  hand  and  looked  at  it  earnestly. 
"Thou  hast  had  hardships  in  the  past,"  he  mur- 
mured, in  perfectly  good  English;  "but  Uiou  hast 
before  thee  a  great,  a  wonderful  destiny." 

John  stared  hard  at  the  man;  as  usual  he  had  a 
strong  desire  to  laugh,  but  the  seriousness,  not  to 
say  solemnity,  of  the  face  before  him  was  so  great 
that  he  forebore. 

"This  glorious  line  of  thy  fate,"  continued  the 
wizard,  knitting  his  gloomy  brows,  "  is  crossed  by 
otlier  lines  in  so  strange  a  manner  that  -but  come 
into  my  inner  shrine,  where  the  light  of  heaven 
will  shine  more  clearly  on  the  mystic  hieroglyphs 

of  thy  palm." 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  the  editor  of  The  Protest 
might  have  been  seen  rapidly  making  his  way  down 
the  street.  "  Confound  it!  "  he  muttered,  glancing 
at  his  watch,  "  I've  wasted  loo  much  time  on  that 
fellow. "    Then  he  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed 

121 


JOHN  MERRILL'S  EXPERIMENT 

aloud      "  V.est  joke  on  Molly  I-Let's  8ee,  not  hap- 

Ld      Won't  she  laugU  when  she  hears  that ? 

ward  to  one  of  his  coad  utors  of   The   /  >ot,st,     i 
::„t  to  see  that  pahnist  fellow;  he  sent    or, ne 

this  morning-  offered  to  read  my  hand  nmhs. 
"Did  he  ^end  that  little  n>oukey  m  red  and  gold 

aJ'>n--    queried  (George,   languidly  twrst.ng 

his  mustache  with  a  very  grimy  hand. 

'^^Yes,  that  little  black  imp-clid  you  -   "- 
Well,  he  is  a  san>ple  of  the  whole  show.     It  s  the 
greatest  show  on  earth,  -^--'^^^^^^  '^^  '^^'l^^ 

sail  up  like  a  lOCK-ct.     x  j, 

ie  d«la.ed  I  l.»d  nut  .lavned  "■»  "S'^^^^f  ,„,g,. 

:Tzrr:::r».e.r:.a.aseew,,au,e.« 
Ltec...  but  I  'M"''-:>'f";';:fi,:  "i" : 


IIMENT 

3  see,  not  hap- 
t  suiiohhj  mar- 
•ars  that?  " 
in  horn-  aftei- 
Ite  Prof  est,  "I 
be  sent  for  me 

iml  .'/'■"''*•" 
in  red  and  gold 
Tuidly  twisting 
nd. 

d  you  se(!  him? 
show.     It's  the 
I  ten  dollars,  at 
,t  of  stuff— and, 
vaight!     Said  I 
•  five  years,  and 
st  joke  was  that 
right  girl!" 
1  George,  laugh- 
rs.  Merrill  think 
id  see  what  he'll 

:  on  that  sort  of 
le's  got  too  much 
1  the  fellow  that 
ee  I  was  in  knee- 
say  a  word;  just 
trifle.  That  led 
a  subject  in  a  way 


IN  PALMISTRY 

that  came   near  earning  him   a  licking  then  and 

there  *' 

That  night  when  the  editor  of  T/w  rmtrsf  got 
home,  he  found  his  two  daughters  thumpmg  out 
a  duet  on  the  piano.  They  stopped  long  enough 
to  inform  him  that  "  Mama  was  out  -downtown, 
they  thought,  then  resumed  their  duet,  which  was 
only  interrupted  with  an  occasional  brisk  quarrel 
for  the  next  half  hour. 

The  dinner-bell  rang,  and  Mrs.  Merrill  was  still 
missing.  John  waited  live-ten  minutes  •,  then, 
in  a  decidedly  grumpy  frame  of  mind,  ordered  the 
meal  to  be  served  at  once. 

"  When  a  man  comes  home  tired  and  hungry  ne 
ought  to  find  his  wife  ready  to  welcome  him  with 
a  good  dinner,"  he  thought  to  himself  as  he  began 
to  carve  the  mutton,  which,  unluckily,  was  quite 

"  I'll  have  a  different  cook  when  I  get  along  a 
little  further,"  he  continued,  his  mind  half  uncon- 
sciously reverting  to  the  glorious  prophecies  of  the 
wizard  Then  certain  other  words  of  that  worthy 
recurred  to  his  mind.  '^Your  unfortunate  mar- 
riage may  possibly  counteract  this  line  of  fame; 
it  crosses  it  in  such  a  way  as  to  leave  us  in  some 

doubt "  ,.^    .        ,,  „ 

At  this  particular  point  in  his  meditations  the 
front  door  opened,  and  in  another  moment  Mrs. 
MerrUl,  fresh  and  glowing  from  the  c^old  air,  en- 

123 


JOHN  MERRILL'S  EXPERIME:NT 

tered  the  diuing-room.     "Oh,  .luhn,"  she  began, 

laughing,  "I  had  the  funniest  time "     Then 

alarmed  at  the  severe  look  with  which  he  regarded 
her,  she  broke  oif  to  say,  "  Why,  what  is  the  mat- 
ter with  you — are  you  sick?  " 

"Sick?  No!"  exclaimed  the  editor,  frowning. 
"But  hang  it  all,  Molly,  this  mutton's  tougher 
than  tripe.  That  cook  of  yours  wants  watch- 
ing." 

Mrs.  Merrill  drew  off  her  gloves  with  a  very 
sober  face.  "I  don't  know  that  it  is  Bridget's 
fault, "  she  said  quietly ;  "the  butcher  is  growing 
careless;  perhaps  you  had  better  speak  to  him." 
Then  she  turned  to  her  daughters,  who  had  been 
looking  on  in  grieved  astonishment. 

"I've  something  pretty  for  each  of  you,"  she 
said  brightly.     "  You  shall  see  after  dinner." 

Not  to  dwell  on  a  very  disagreeable  subject,  I 
am  obliged  to  confess  that  altho  John  Merrill  never 
ceased  to  scorn  himself  for  so  doing,  and  declared 
to  himself  a  thousand  times  a  day  that  it  was  all 
rank  nonsense,  the  words  of  I'almad,  son  of  Thut- 
rnes,  stealthily  burned  themselves  deeper  and 
deeper  into  his  heart,  as'  evil  words  are  sadly 
prone  to  do.  From  the  genial,  open-hearted,  fun- 
loving  companion  that  his  family  and  friends  had 
kno""!!  in  the  past,  he  became  little  by  little,  mo- 
rose, introspective,  and  unable  to  laugh 

"  What  on  earth  has  come  over  Merrill?  "  a«ked 
I'i-i 


erime:nt 

ihn,"  she  began, 

;iiue "     Then 

,'liic.li  he  regarded 
what  is  the  mat- 
editor,  frowning, 
mutton's  tougher 
rs   wants   watch 

ives  with  a  very 
it  it  is  Bridget's 
itcher  is  growing 
)r  speak  to  him." 
rs,  who  had  been 
nt. 

>ach  of  you,"  she 
fter  dinner." 
;reeable  subject,  I 
Fohn  Merrill  never 
)ing,  and  declared 
lay  that  it  was  all 
mad,  son  of  Thut- 
ilves  deeper  and 
words  are  sadly 
open-hearted,  fun- 
y  and  friends  had 
ittle  by  little,  mo- 
0  laugh, 
sr  Merrill?  "  a«ked 


IN  PALMISTRY 

the  men  in  Thr   f'roWst  ofHce,  with  blank  faces. 
"  Ho's  getting  to  be  moie  of  a  faultfinder  than  old 

Simpkins." 

"What's  the  matter  with  Tfie  Protest?  It's 
falling  off,"  said  the  subscribers;  and  they  too 
fell  off  by  dozens. 

"  What  van  be  the  trouble  with  John?  "  wailed 
Mrs.  Merrill,  the  tears,  once  strangers  to  those 
bright  eyes,  brimming  (piite  over  and  running 
down  her  cheeks.  In  vain  she  wore  all  her  pret- 
tiest gowns,  and  cooked  with  her  own  hands  the 
dainty  dishes  that  John  loved. 

<'I  don't  know  why,"  that  gentleman  thought 
gloomily  to  himself,  on  one  of  these  occaoions  of 
dismal  failure;  "but  it  does  annoy  me  so  to  see 
Mary  fidgeting  and  fussing  to  please  me,  that  I 
can't  help  I  eing  disagreeable." 

"Mary  is  a  good  woman,"  he  said  to  himself,  a 
month  later;  "but  I  am  afraid  that  we  are  sadly 
mismated."  By  which  it  will  be  seen  that  the 
descent  to  Avernus  had  become  very  easy,  and  was 
growing  proportionately  swift. 

To  the  fact,  which  was  duly  pointed  out  to  him, 
that  The  Protest  subscription-list  was  dwindling 
sadly,  he  paid  very  little  heed.  Indeed,  he  had 
simply  said,  "Confound  The  Protest!"  whereat 
his  informant,  George  Benton,  had  stared,  and 
gone  sadly  away  to  his  desk.  On  a  dark  evening 
in  December,  John  Merrill  found  himself  next  to 

125 


JOHN  MERRILL'S  EXPERIMENT 

Simpkins,  the  editor  of  The  Doily  Scratcher,  in  the 

elevated  train.  .    ,  v 

Simpkius  nodded  fraternally,  then  buried  him- 
self in  the  pages  of  his  own  paper.  "  Great  note 
about  that  palmist  fellow,"  he  remarked  presently, 
looking  up.     "  It  ueems  he  was  not  the  right  one. 

"^Vhat  did  you  say?"  said  John  Merrill,  rous- 
ing himself  at  the  words. 

"  Why  that  fellow,  Palmad,  who's  been  making 
such  a  to-do— you  interviewed  him,  so  did  we— 
has  been  arrested  for  getting  money  under  false 
pretenscd." 

"  What's  th-it?  "  . 

"The  great      d  only  Palmad  has  just  arrived, 
with  great  blowing  of  trumpets;  the  first  one's  a 
fraud      He's  an  American,    named  Jonas  Smart, 
who  caught  on  to  the  advance  ads.  of  the  great 
and  only,  rigged  himself  up  with  all  the  stage 
properties  required,  and  skimmed  the  cream  off  the 
pan,  while  the  other  fellow  was  on  his  way  from 
Bagdad,  or  India,  or  some  other  outlandish  place. 
"  And  he  knows  nothing  about  palmistry?  " 
"Not  a  blamed  thing-if  there's  anything  to 
know.     Made  it  up  as  he  went  along.     Big  joke 
on   a  few   people  I   know  of!"     And   Simpkins 
laughed  unpleasantly.     "  Going  to  get  out  here? 

"Yes,   I    forgot  something    important.     Good- 
night." „  ,   , 
Once  out  of  that  train,  John  Merrill  proceeded 
120 


RIMENT 
Scratcher,  in  the 

en  buried  him- 
"  Great  note 
arked  presently, 
;  the  right  one." 
in  Merrill,  rous- 

lO's  been  making 
,im,  80  did  we — 
jney  under  false 


has  just  arrived, 
the  first  one's  a 
ed  Jonas  Smart, 
ads.  of  the  great 
th  all  the  stage 
the  cream  off  the 
on  his  way  from 
(Utlandish  place." 
palmistry?" 
jre's  anything  to 
along.     Big  joke 
'     And   Simpkins 
to  get  out  here?" 
mportant.     Good- 

Merrill  proceeded 


IN  PALMISTRY 

—as    he   afterward   confessed— to    kirk    himself 

around  one  block  no  fewer  than  eight  times;  alter 

which,  feeling  somewhat  soothed,  he  dashed  into 

a  florist's  establishment  and  recklessly  invested  his 

last  five  dollars  in  a  big  box  of  roues.     Then  he 

ran  every  step  of  the  way  for  the  ten  blocks  which 

separated  him  from  a  cciLaiu  snug  house  iu  Harlem. 

Mrs.  Merrill  was  at  home  and  alone— John  made 

sure  of  that  before  he  went  in.     Her  face  looked 

white  and  worn  in  the  light  of  the  big  lamp,  which 

shone  on  the  heaped-up  garments  which  she  was 

pi^tiontly   trying  to   "make    do"    for    one    more 

season. 

a:  the  sight  John  Merrill  deliberately  batted 
his  head  against  the  wall  and  groaned.  "  Insuf- 
ferable duffer  that  I  am!"  he  ejaculated;  then 
unable  to  bear  his  thoughts  longer,  he  burst  in 
upon  the  astonished  little  woman. 

"Molly,"  he  cried,  "hooray!  Molli/,  you're  the 
dearest  little  woman  in  the  world,  and  /'m  the 
biggest  donkey  in  the  world!  It's  another  case  of 
Titania  and  Bottom!  Molli/,  do  you  hate  me?" 
He  knelt  down  at  her  feet,  and  the  small  woman 
called  Molly  totally  disappeared  in  a  profusion  of 
overcoat,  big  arms,  and  whiskers.  When  she 
emerged  a  moment  later,  tearful  and  rosy,  she 
asked  solemnly,  "John,  ara  you  sure  you  aren't 
coming  do-  a  with  grippe?  " 

"Grippe?   thunder,  no!"  roared  John,  "but  I 
127 


JOHN  MERRILL'S  EXPERIMENT 

reckon  I've  had  it.  mhj,  I'oonn,!"  And  he 
tore  the  cover  off  the  box  and  emptied  five  do/en 
big  red  roses  into  her  lap,  completely  smothering 
the  things  which  were  being  "made  to  do." 

Mrs  Merrill  doesn't  know  to  this  day  what  ailed 
her  husband.    As  for  the  men  in  The  Protest  office, 
they  shortly  forgot  all  about  it,  after  the  fashion 
of  men.     The  subscribers  forgot  it  too.     Indeed, 
they  very  soon  denied  with  indignation  that  they 
had  ever  said  one  derogatory  word  about  the  paper. 
As  for  the  new  subscribers-aud  their  name  was 
legion-they  were  too  busy  laughing  over  the  cap- 
ital fun,  mixed  with  capital  good  sense,  with  which 
its  pages  sparkled,  to  say  more  than  this-the  best 
of  all  good  advertising,  as  every  editor  knows :     It 
you  haven't  read  the  last  Protest,  my  dear  fellow, 
you've  missed  it!" 

When,  early  in  the  new  year,  a  small,  sleek, 
dapper,  well-dressed  and  smiling  individual,  pre- 
sented himself  in  the  office  of  this  prominent  sheet, 
to  learn  why  his  business  card  had  not  been  printed 
in  a  late  issue  of  the  paper,  he  was  both  grieved 
and  astonished  at  the  reception  he  received  in  the 
sanctum  of  the  editor. 

«jVo  sir'"  thundered  John  Merrill,  in  his 
deepest  bass.  "  I  don't  believe  in  palmistry ;  it's 
all  rot,  sir,  devilish  rot!  I  won't  have  the  word 
printed  in  my  paper!     Good  morning,  sir." 

Whereat  the  small,  sleek,  dapper,  well-dressed 
128 


'wtn-un- 


ERIMENT 

omy!"     And  he 
uiptied  five  dozen 
)letely  smotheriug 
ade  to  do." 
his  day  what  ailed 
The  Protest  office, 
,  after  the  fashion 
t  it  too.     Indeed, 
iguation  that  they 
rd  about  the  paper, 
id  their  name  was 
jhing  over  the  cap- 
1  sense,  with  which 
than  this— the  best 
r  editor  knows :  "  If 
isf,  my  dear  fellow, 

iOt,  a  small,  sleek, 
mg  individual,  pre- 
lis  prominent  sheet, 
lad  not  been  printed 
e  was  both  grieved 
1  he  received  in  the 


IN  PALMISTRY 

individual,  who  was  indeed  no  less  a  person  than 
the  distinguished  I'almad,  late  of  London,  Paris, 
St.  Petersburg,  Vienna,  and  the  world  at  large, 
went  away.  He  was  not  smiling  as  he  went,  but 
at  the  distance  of  half  a  block  from  the  office  of 
The  Protest  he  was  seen  to  shrug  his  shoulders. 
"Dese  Americaine,"  he  murmured  tranquilly, 
"  aire  singulaire— ver'  singulaire!  " 


hn    Merrill,  in  his 
I'e  in  palmistry;  it's 
?on't  have  the  word 
[lorning,  sir." 
dapper,  well-dressed 


129 


T 


T 


The  Strange  Case  of 
Esther  Atkins 

By 

Mrs.  L.  E.  L.  Hardenbrook 


Illustrations 

By 

J.  R.  Connor 


181 


T 


THF:   STRiVNGE   CASE    OF 
EST  II  Ell    ATKINS 


\Viii:n  Mrs.  Atkins,  ai'tt'i'  ten  years  of  married 
life,  b^eame  n  wiil'iw,  sho  with  lier  only  child  Es- 
ther settled  in  a  plain  New  England  village,  in 
whose  outskirts  slm  owned  a  pretty  cottage  de- 
signed as  a  suninicr  home.  As  years  passed  liy, 
Esther  became  to  her  daughter,  sister,  comrade, 
lover,  friend — all  in  one.  Their  mutual  sympathy 
and  devotion  far  exceeded  mere  parental  and  filial 
regard.  Estlier's  character  developed  a  stronger 
individnality  than  her  mother  possessed,  and  their 
relations  were  nearly  reversed.  Their  secluded 
life  was  marked  by  deepening  harmony,  not  marred 
even  when  an  affection  natural  to  Kstlier's  age  cul- 
minated in  her  betrothal  to  Archibald  Erksine. 

Contrary  to  the  rule  of  the  usual,  this  event 
was  ardently  desired  and  promoted  by  the  mother. 
The  young  man  was  remotely  connected  with  her 
family.  He  was  of  stedfast  integrity,  good  men- 
tal endowments,  and  amiable  nature.    Au  acquaint- 

13a 


hA 


THP]  STRANGE  CASE  OF 

ance,  begun  in  childhood,  ripened  into  sincere  if 
not  over-romantio  atfection,  and  their  engagement 
Avas  sanctioned  on  his  last  visit,  during  the  vaca- 
tion of  the  Western  College  where  he  was  prepar- 
ing for  the  ministry. 

Estlier  Atkins,  tho  of  good  physique,  was  not 
robust.  In  the  spring  of  her  nineteenth  year,  when 
returning  from  a  walk  to  the  village,  she  was  over- 
taken by  a  sudden  rain-storm.  Reaching  home 
chilled  and  wet,  she  lingered  to  read  letters  just 
received  from  her  lover.  During  the  night  she 
was  awakened  by  a  congestive  chill,  the  commence- 
ment of  a  severe  attack  of  pneumonia.  In  spite  of 
medical  care,  three  days  later  Esther  Atkins  lay 
dead  in  the  desolated  home. 

The  night  oefore  her  death,  when  all  hope  had 
been  abandoned,  the  stricken  mother  knelt  by  Es- 
ther's bedside,  silent  and  tearless  in  her  despair. 
The  dying  girl,  suddenly  roused  from  the  stupor  in 
which  she  had  lain,  opened  her  glittering  eyes, 
and  placed  cue  feeble  arm  about  her  mothev's 
neck. 

"  Little  Mither, ''  she  said-  earnestly,  using  a 
playfiil  pet  name  adopted  from  some  verses  called 
'Mither  and  Me,'— "oh,  do  not  believe  me  ca- 
pable of  deserting  you !  It  is  not  possible,  dear. 
I  could  not  prove  so  base,  so  faithless  to  all  our 
life  has  been.  In  some  way  I  shall  achieve  my 
purpose,  tho  I  seem  to  go.     I  can  not,  will  not 

134 


1 


OP 


ESTHER  ATKINS 


into  sincere  if 
eir  engagement 
iiring  the  vaca- 
lie  was  prepar- 

sique,  was  not 
inth  year,  when 
},  she  was  over- 
leachiug  home 
sad  letters  just 
the  night  she 
the  conimence- 
ia.  In  spite  of 
;her  Atkins  lay 

11  all  hope  had 
;r  knelt  by  Es- 
in  her  despair. 
m  the  stupor  in 
glittering  eyes, 
t  her  mothev'a 

lestly,  using  a 
ue  verses  called 
believe  me  ca- 
possible,  dear. 
iless  to  all  our 
lall  achieve  my 
iQ.  not,  will  not 


leave  you  until  the  end.  Remember,  oh!  remem- 
ber, I  will  be  by  you  to  the  end— yes!  to  your 
life' send!" 

This  she  repeated  again  and  again  in  weakening 
tones.  Then,  babbling  the  refrain  of  the  rimes 
ending 

"Nobody  else,  only  Mither  and  me"— 
her  eyes  closed,  and  she  spoke  no  more. 

A  fortnight  before  this  event  took  place,  a  fam- 
ily named  Warner  had  moved  into  the  village. 
They  occupied  a  large  gray  stone  house  on  the 
farther  side  of  the  small  stream  that  meandered 
picturesquely  through  the  place,  and  whose  rustic 
bridges  and  a  niill-site  constituted  pleasing  fea- 
tures in  the  rural  landscape. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Warner  had  inherited  this  home- 
stead, and  had  now  taken  possession,  bringing 
their  daughter  Elizabeth  with  them.  They  were 
strangers,  and  beyond  the  inevitable  tradespeople, 
had  met  none  of  their  neighbors.  Elizabeth  had 
made  several  visits  to  the  small  shops  where  house- 
hold necessities  were  to  be  procured. 

The  first  time  she  entered  a  fancy  store,  the 
woman  in  it  advanced  with  a  familiar  smile,  say- 
ing, "  Good  morning,"  adding:  "  What  can  I  show 
you.  Miss  Atkins?" 

Elizabeth  replied  with  some  haughtiness  in  her 
135 


THE  STRANGE  CASE  OF 


contralto  voice,  "  I  am  not  Misa  Atkins,  but  I 
would  like  some  carpet  thread  and  large  needles, 
if  you  please."  The  woman  stared.  "Yes,  miss; 
excuse  me,  miss.  I  hear  you  are  not,  but  I  could 
not  have  Velieved  it,  if  you  had  not  spoken." 

Elizabeth  felt  the  woman's  eyes  follow  her  in 
mute  bewilderment  while  she  made  her  pur- 
chases. 

On  her  way  homeward,  some  boys  and  two 
women  said  "  Good  day  "  as  she  passed  by.  She 
thought  it  country  courtesy,  till  one  small  urchin 
added  "Miss  Atkins,"  and  she  was  slightly  an- 
noyed. Then  she  recalled  greetings  in  church,  and 
how  several  persons  lingered  and  stared  when  she 
joined  her  parents. 

Elizabeth  Warner  told  her  mother  of  these  re- 
peated experiences,  and  they  were  curious  to  see 
"Bessie's  double,"  as  they  called  the  unknown 
Miss  Atkins. 


Elizabeth  Warner  was  returning  from  the  post- 
office  one  day.  Just  as  slie  passed  over  the  bridge 
nearest  the  ivy-clad  church,  th6  mellow  bell  began 
to  toll.  She  stopped  to  count.  Nineteen  strokes 
only.  She  sighed.  That  was  her  own  age.  It 
must  be  sad  to  die  at  nineteen. 

She  retraced  her  steps.  A  man  was  clearing 
rubbish  from  the  front  of  the  churchyard. 

"  Who  is  dead?  "  she  asked. 
186 


OF 

A^tkins,  but  I 
large  needles, 
"  Yes,  iniss ; 
>t,  but  I  coukl 
ipoken." 
follow  her  in 
ade   her   pur- 

oys  and  two 
ised  by.  She 
5  small  urchin 
I  slightly  an- 
in  church,  and 
ired  when  she 

ir  of  these  re- 
jurious  to  see 
the  unknown 


rom  the  post- 
ver  the  bridge 
ow  bell  began 
Qeteen  strokes 
own  age.     It 

was  clearing 
yard. 


--:;--* 


Who  IS  dead?  ''  she  asked 


r 


fc 


Ol 

y 


r 


ESTHER   ATKINS 

"A  sweet  young  lady,  miss,"  he  answered  be- 
fore looking  up.     When  he  did   so,  he  stared^ 

"  Ah !  she  might  be  your  twin  8-..er,  miss.  And 
only  three  days  sick." 

"  And  her  name?  " 

Elizabeth  felt  it  before  he  said:  "Miss  Esther 
Atkins;  and  sure  she  must  have  been  some  km  to 
ye,"  he  muttered. 

"  Thank  you. "    IMiss  Warner  walked  home  slowly. 

"Mother,"  said  Elizabeth  that  evening,  "  T  heard 
that  Miss  Atkins  died  to-day-the  girl,  you  know, 
who  looked  like  me.  Would  it  be  a  proper  thing 
for  me  to  go  to  her  house?  Iwaiit  to  see  her. 
They  lived  in  that  white,  neat-looking  cottage  at 
the  turn  of  the  shady  lane  we  like  so  much.  She 
had  no  one  but  her  mother.  May  I  go?  Indeed, 
I  feel  that  I  must." 

"Why,  IJessie  dear,"  replied  the  placid  Mrs. 
Warner,  "I  can  see  no  reason  why  you  should 
not.  They  would  certainly  have  called  soon.  In 
a  place  like  this  it  would  show  our  neighborly 
sympathy.  Take  some  lilies.  An  only  daughter, 
and  just  your  age,  did  you  say?  I  am  sorry  for 
her  mother.     I  must  go  and  see  her  some  day. 

Mrs.  Warner  took  up  her  work-basket,  and  as  she 
put  her  needles  away  she  debated  in  her  mind  what 
sort  of  preserves  Mr.  Warner  would  prefer  for  tea. 


137 


THE  STRANGE  CASE  OF 

The  next  day  Elizabeth  went  to  the  cottage,  her 
heart  full  of  a  vague  sadness,  and  her  hands  full 
of  pale  flowers.     She  met  some  women  on  the  same 
sad  errand,  aud  asked  to  join  them.     She   had 
veiled  her  face  from  an  instinct  of  delicacy  to  con- 
ceal a  resembliince  that  might  be  painful.     As  she 
stood  by  the  dead  girl's  bier  and  laid  the  garlauda 
at  her  feet,  looking  long  and  stedfastly  at  the  face 
so  like  her  own,  she  could  easily  perceive  the  re- 
semblance.    A   picture  she  had  of   herself  with 
downcast  eyen  was  more  like  EstluT  than  like  her- 
self.    There  was  the  very  arch  of  the  brow,  the 
droop  of  the  mouth,  the  wave  of  the  brown  hair. 
She  noted  the  iobes  of  the  ears,  unpierced  like  her 
own ;  touched  lier  hands,  placing  some  lilies-of-the- 
valley  in   the  fingers.     They  were  tapering  aud 
shapely  like  her  own. 

Elizabeth  stood  spellbound.  Great  waves  of 
pitying  tenderness  swept  over  her,  a  yearning  re- 
gret that  she  had  not  known  her,  had  not  been 
able  to  love  or  serve  her— a  cry  from  a  sistcrless 
soul  for  a  joy  unrealized,  a  need  never  known  till 

now. 

She  stooped  impulsively,  kissed  Esther's  cold 

face,  and  departed. 

The  day  following  she  sat  among  the  people  in 
the  church  and  stood  beside  the  open  grave  of  the 
young  girl  so  early  called  away.     Elizabeth  had 

138 


lij 


OF 

;he  cottage,  her 
her  hands  full 
len  on  the  same 
lem.  Slio  had 
:l(>licacy  to  con- 
linful.  As  sho 
,id  the  garUinds 
stly  at  tlie  face 
)eroeive  the  re- 
)f  herself  with 
r  tliim  like  her- 
E  thb  brow,  the 
;he  brown  hair, 
pierced  like  her 
ime  lilies-of-th(- 
e   tapering  and 

3rrefit  waves  of 
r,  a  yearning  re- 
r,  had  not  been 
from  a  sistmlesa 
never  known  till 

d  Esther's  cold 


ng  the  people  in 

j)en  grave  of  the 

Elizabeth  had 


ESTHER  A'UKIXS 

never  before  met  Death  in  such  a  form  that  it  ap- 
pealed to  her  personally.  She  felt,  in  a  sub- 
conscious way,  that  tho  for  Esther  it  was  the  end, 
for  hi')-  it  was  a  starting-point :  there  were  new- 
born emotions  and  desires,  crude  and  imperfect, 
but  yet  real,  surging  in  her  soul. 

Elizabeth  could  never  recall  the  days  that  fol- 
lowed this  burial.  She  was  absorbed  by  a  vague 
disquiet,  a  sense  of  iiupending  crisis  that  rendered 
her  usual  life  unusual.  Her  parents  considered  her 
in  low  spirits,  depressed  by  the  change  of  resi- 
dence, associates,  and  occupations,  affected  natu- 
rally by  being  confronted  on  the  very  threshold  of 
a  new  life  by  this  spectacle  of  death  arresting  one 
young  and  closely  resembling  herself. 

They  waited  for  Time  to  remove  these  sad  im- 
pressions. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  ninth  day  after  Es- 
ther Atkins's  funeral,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Warner  re- 
turned from  a  long  drive.  Bessie  was  not  at  home. 
On  her  mother's  dressing-table  lay  a  sheet  of 
paper.     On  it  Elizabeth  had  written : 

Deau  Mother  :— I  feel  as  if  I  must  go  and  comfort  Mrs. 
Alkins.  If  I  .should  not  come  home  to-night  don't  be 
frighleued.     I  shall  be  peifeclly  safe. 

With  love, 

Bessie. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Warner  talked  during  the  evening 
139 


THE  STRANGE  CASE  OF 

of  their  daughter's  loving  nature,  and  were  only 
slightly  disquieted  when  at  bedtime  Bessie  had 
not  returned. 

As  in  a  dream,  Elizabeth  Warner  aped  along  the 
road  that  led  to  Mrs.  Atkins's  cottage.  She  was 
impelled;  she  did  not  go — she  was  taken. 

Passing  tlie  churchyard,  she  caught  sight  of  a 
black- robed  figure;  it  was  that  of  Esther's  mother. 
She  did  not  stop;  the  house  was  her  destination. 
Her  mind  held  but  one  purpose — to  reach  the  cot- 
tage. She  opened  the  gate,  entered,  and  went  up 
the  pathway.  A  dog  came  to  meet  her,  and 
fawned  upon  her;  she  patted  his  rough  head  fear- 
lessly. As  she  reached  the  door  she  reinemlered 
where  the  key  was  always  hidden  — iu  a  window- 
shutter — got  it,  unlocked  the  door,  replaced  the 
key,  sprang  the  latch,  and  went  upstairs  to  a  room. 
She  knew  it,  but  it  looked  so  prim  and  formal. 
She  was  drowsy ;  she  sat  down  for  a  moment  and 
nodded. 

Oh,  this  would  never  do!  She  must  sleep!  In 
an  instant  her  hat  was  off,  her  wrap,  her  dress 
hung  up.  She  caught  a  dressing-gown  from  the 
closet,  put  it  on,  and  sank  down  upon  the  bed. 
Sleep  overcame  her  at  once. 

The  sun  shone  cheerily  through  the  white-cur- 
tained window,  lighting  the  room  where  Elizabeth 

UO 


L_ 


F 


ES'I'HKH    ATKINS 


(I  were  only 
liessie  had 


ed  along  the 
e.  She  was 
:en. 

t  sight  of  a 
er's  mother, 
destination. 
3ach  the  cot- 
and  went  up 
it  her,  and 
li  head  fear- 
)  remembered 
a  a  window- 
replaced  the 
:3  to  a  room, 
and  formal, 
moment  and 


it  sleep! 
P. 


In 
her  dress 
yn  from  the 
)0u  the  bed. 

e  white-cur- 
ire  Elizabeth 


Warner  had  slept  long  and  deei)ly.  It  was  Esther 
Atkins  who  awakened  and  looked  drowsily  about 
her  familiar  bedroom.  "  How  well  I  feel!"  ran 
her  thoughts.  "  They  were  mistaken  m  fancying 
me  so  ill.     I  will  get  up  and  surjjrise  mother." 

She  rose  softly,  so  as  to  disturb  no  one,  and 
began  to  dress.  Her  hair  looked  odd,  but  she 
quickly  arranged  it  in  her  usual  way.  When  she 
went  to  lier  closet  for  a  dress  she  noticed  some 
strange  artic'es  of  clothing:  "These  must  belong 
to  some  nurse  mother  has  had  for  me, "  she  thought, 
and  she  hung  them  out  of  sight.  She  put  on  a 
blue  morning-dress,  knotted  a  ribbon  at  her  throat; 
her  gown  as  well  as  her  shoes  seemed  loose.  "  I 
have  lost  flesh— and  how  pale  my  hands  are!  "  she 
thought.  She  said  her  morning  prayer  and  went 
downstairs. 

In  the  small  breakfast-room  Mrs.  Atkins  sat, 
her  Bible  on  her  knees.  Esther's  step  was  heard, 
then  her  voice,  humming  the  lines  of  a  familiar 
hymn. 

The  door  opened. 

"Good  morning,  dearest  Mither,"  said  the  girl. 
"I  have  come  down  to  breakfast  with  you.  I 
awoke  feeling  so  strong  I  wanted  to  surprise  you." 
And  she  came  closer,  bent  over  and  kissed  the 
astounded  lady.  Mrs.  Atkins  looked  in  her  face, 
gasped,  and  almost  lost  consciousness.  Esther 
put  her  arms  around  her. 

141 


THE  STRANGE  CASE  oF 


"  Oh,  dearest,  1  did  not  mean  to  startle  you  sol  " 
she  said.  "  Did  you  think  1  was  not  able  to  get 
up  yet?  IJr.  Manly  was  wrong  to  frighten  you 
about  my  chill.  1  knew  it  was  not  serious.  He 
just  wanted  to  make  a  bill  as  big  aa  when  you  were 
ill  last  winter.  We  must  try  Dr.  Seldeii  and  his 
little  sugar  pills,  next  time.  Como,  everything 
wih  o^t  cold,     r.et  me  pour  you  a  cup  of  tea" 

"Esther,  Esther,  my  child!  Oh,  it  can  not  be 
you,  alive,  well  again,  after  all  1  have  suffered! 
Have  I  been  dreaming,  or  am  I  mad!"  cried  the 
distracted  mother. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  had  been  ill,  instead  of  me, 
precious  little  Mither,"  said  the  girl,  soothing  and 
caressing  her.  "  Vou  have  been  over-anxious;  but 
now  all  will  be  well  again,  and  I  shall  begin  at 
once  to  nurse  you.  Oh !  I  must  let  Rollo  in  for  a 
minute,  he  is  begging  and  scratching  ao  hard  at  the 

door." 

A  moment  after,  she  and  the  overjoyed  liouse- 
dog  were  romping  together  m  all  the  freedom  of 
long  and  familiar  friendship       . 

In  a  waking  dream,  ^Irs.  Atkins  gazed  upon 
them.  Had  Esther's  death  been  the  fearful  vis- 
ion of  a  diseased  brain?  This  was  Esther's  form, 
wearing  Esther's  garb,  Esther's  voice  speaking 
Esther's  love,  using  Esther's  household  phrases. 
What  did  it  all  mean?  Then  for  a  moment  Mrs. 
Atkins  fancied  sfie  had  died  in  her  turn,  and  was 

143 


di 

cc 
w 

d( 
]>( 

si 

SI 

gl 

a 

h( 

fii 

oi 
W 

gj 
tl 

It 
lo 
sc 
to 
w 
T 
th 
ai 

si 


F 


FHTHEIi    ATKIXS 


tie  you  80 1 " 
t  able  to  get 
'nghten  you 
HTums.  lie 
leu  you  were 
deii  aiul  his 
,  overytlmig 
of  tea." 
;  can  not  be 
ive  suffered ! 
!  "  cried  the 

istead  of  me, 
soothing  and 
anxious;  but 
lall  begin  at 
lIoIIo  in  for  a 
,0  hard  at  the 

joyed  house- 
e  freedom  of 

gazed  upon 
0  fearful  vis- 
Isther's  form, 
lice  speaking 
lold  phrases, 
moment  ilrs. 
;urn,  and  was 


meeting  Estlier  in  tlieir  "  own  plact-  "  beyond  the 
dark  valloy. 

With  siidden  self' surrender  she  regained  partial 
composure,  rose,  and  embraced  Esther,  saying  she 
was  quite  well,  only  faint  from  fasting.  They  sat 
down,  and  ate  their  simple  breakfast  together. 

Mrs.  Atkins  f\irtivcly  regarded  tlie  girl  opposite 
her.  Tt  was,  and  yet  was  not,  the  saiue  Esther 
she  had  borne,  nurtured,  loved,  and,  as  she 
supposed,  buried.  If  a  ghost,  she  was  not 
ghostly.  .\  spirit  had  not  warm,  Heslily  identity, 
a  varying  bloom,  aiid  an  interest  in  overy-day 
homely  topics,  a  healthy  relish  fur  plain  cottage 
fare. 

She  fancied  she  could  detect  slight  differences 
of  feature  only  appreciable  to  a  mother's  eye. 
When  tlie  face  before  her  was  in  repose,  when  the 
girl  raised  her  eyes,  and  they  and  her  lips  smiled, 
there  was  no  doubt  possible.  Be  the  solution  what 
it  might,  at  least  these  moments  should  be  pro- 
longed and  rapturously  enjoyed.  If  God  had  been 
so  merciful  and  tender  in  IIis  loving-kindness  as 
to  restore  her  one  well-beloved  wee  lamb,  she 
would  accept  her  with  thanksgiving  at  His  hands. 
They  went  together  into  the  sitting-room,  and  Es- 
ther, as  was  their  custom,  read  aloud  the  lesson 
and  psalms  for  the  day. 

There  seemed  a  plaintive  pathos  in  her  voice,  as 
she  read  the  verse :  "  He  came  unto  His  own,  and 


THK  HTKANtiK  CASK  OK 

His  own  roceivod  Una  not."     Aftor  that,  th..y  fell 
into  sweet  converse. 

It  would  bo  untrue  not  to  admit  that,  despitn 
her  acceptance  of  tlie  {,Mft,  the  niolher  was  adroitly 
applying  test  after  test  to  her  restored  daughter. 
She  talked  of  the  past,  the  future,  the  present- 
all  was  ahko  familiar  to  the  girl.  Esther,  fre- 
quently leading  the  conversation,  would  remind 
her  mother  of  particulars  forgotten  by  the  elder 
lady.  She  recalled  topics  in  Archibald's  letters 
to  her,  speaking  of  his  studies  and  approaching 

ordination. 

Of  him  she  spoke  with  less  ardor  than  usual, 
Mrs.  Atkins  fancied,  but  Esther's  love  affair  had 
been  more  like  stedfast  friendliness  than  ardent 
passion,  as  if  filial  love  rendered  all  other  emo- 
tions subservient  to  its  domination.  The  morning 
was  wearing  away, -Esther  having  r-sumed  some 
needle-work,  laid  aside  when  her  ilhu  ss  began— 
when  a  carriage  stopped  at  the  gate.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Warner  alighted,  and  were  met  on  the  porch 
by  Mrs.  Atkins.     They  introduced  themselves  as 

they  met. 

"We  have  come  for  our  daughter,"  Mrs.  War- 
ner said.  "  We  grew  a  trifle  anxious,  and  as  the 
day  IS  becoming  cloudy,  drove  over  for  her,  as  well 
as  to  call  upon  you. " 

"  Your  daughter?  "  repeated  Mrs.  Atkins. 

"  Yes ,  T-essie  left  word  she  was  coming  to  visit 
111 


L 


Bhil 


■^ 


]  ov 

r  that,  t  lii-y  fell 

it  that,  despite 
licr  was  adroitly 
tored  daiightiT. 
),  the  prcHOut — 
1.  Esther,  fre- 
,,  would  reniind 
on  by  the  older 
L'hibald's  letters 
lud  approaching 

rdor  than  usual, 
8  love  affair  had 
iess  than  ardent 
i  all  other  cino- 
1.  The  nioming 
g  r'^sumed  some 
ilhuss  began — 
gate.  Mr.  and 
met  on  the  porch 
}d  themselves  as 

hter,"  Mrs.  War- 
<ious,  and  as  the 
er  for  her,  as  well 

rs.  Atkins. 

is  coming  to  visit 


ESTFIKH    ATKINS 

you.  Hit  sym|iathu's  have  ht-en  sodt'oply  wrought 
upon  by  yuur  bfitNivi'iiient,  she  waived  all  cere- 
mony ti>  cDimi  to  you." 

"  I  liardly  know  what  to  say,  Mrs.  Warner," 
faltered  tho  poor  widow.  "A  young  girl,  the 
counterpart  of  my  Ksthor,  is  here.  Come  in  and 
judge  for  yourselves."  She  led  the  way  iuto  the 
''itting-room. 

The  girl  arose  as  they  entered  and  stood  mod- 
estly expectant.  The  pause  was  awkward.  "Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Warner,"  announced  Mrs.  Atkins;  "they 
have  called  to  see  us." 

The  form  in  the  blue  dress  advaiiced,  uo  recog- 
nition in  her  face,  which  expressed  simply  cour- 
tesy. 

"  I  am  very  ]ilea.sed  to  meet  you,"  said  Esther's 
gentle  voice,  as  she  extended  her  hand  to  the  call- 
ers.    "  I'ray  be  seated." 

"Bessie!  Elizabeth!"  broke  from  the  lips  of 
both  parents.  Mrs.  Warner  wrung  her  hand.s,  and 
sank  helplessly  upon  the  offered  seat. 

"My  God!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Warner.  "Why, 
she  does  not  know  us!  Mother,  is  this  our  Eliza- 
beth? Her  very  voice  is  changed.  Oh,  what  has 
happened?  My  child,"  he  addressed  her  vehe- 
mently, "  we  have  come  to  take  you  home.  Why 
do  you  look  so  strangely?  Can  you  have  forgotten 
us?     Don't  you  know  your  own  ntame?  " 

"Pardon  me,  Mr.  Warner,"  said  Esther  with 
10  145 


THE  STRANGE  CIASE  OF 

quiet  dignity,  "  1  do  not  exactly  follow  your  mean- 
iug.  There  must  be  some  mistake  here.  I  am 
Esther  Atkins.  This  is  my  mother.  We  h.tve 
lived  here  nearly  all  my  life.  I  presume  you  are 
the  new  inmates  of  the  old  Warner  homestead.  I 
have  never  seen  either  of  your  faces  to  my  knowl- 
edge until  this  moment." 

"  Wife,  this  is  not  our  Bessie's  voice,"  said  Mr. 
Warner  • ' "  but  can  we  r  t  be  sure  of  our  own  child 
even  in  these  clothes?     Mrs.  Atkins,  I  have  Bes- 
sie's note  in  my  pocket,  saying  she  was  coming  to 
you.     If  this  be  not  Bessie,  where  is  our  daugh- 
ter?" ^      , 
Esther  took  the  note  and  read  the  few  lines. 
"I  do  not  catch  the  drift  of  your  talk,  Mr.  War- 
ner," she  said,  "nor  do  I  see  why  yo-ir  daughter 
should  wish  to  comfort  viu  mother.     I  am  here  for 
all  services  she  may  require  so  long  as  life  lasts. 
I  will  show  you  that  I  could  not  have  written  that 
note."     She  found  a  pencil  as  she  was  speaking, 
hastily  copied  a  few  lines  on  the  reverse  of  the 
paper,  and  handed  it  to  Mr.  Warner.     He  looked 
at  it,  at  her,  and  groaned  'aloud  in  his  dismay. 
Mrs.  Warner  sobbed  hysterically,  and  Mrs.  Atkins 
went  to   get  a  glass  of  wine   for  the  distracted 

woman. 

"  You  will  please  excuse  me  if  I  withdraw,  said 
Esther.  "  This  is  the  first  day  I  have  been  able 
to  leave  my  room  since  my  illness,  and  I  am  not 

140 


1 


OF 


ESTHER  ATKINS 


How  your  mean- 
ie  here.  I  am 
iher.  We  h.ive 
resume  you  are 
r  homestead.  I 
es  to  my  knowl- 

roice,"  said  Mr. 
of  our  own  cliild 
us,  I  have  Bes- 
B  was  coming  to 
sre  is  our  daugh- 

he  few  lines. 
IV  talk,  Mr.  War- 
ty your  daughter 
i\     I  am  here  for 
long  as  life  lasts, 
have  -written  that 
he  was  speaking, 
le  reverse  of  the 
rnev.     He  looked 
i  in  his  dismay. 
,  and  Mrs.  Atkins 
or  the  distracted 

I  withdraw,"  said 
■  I  have  been  able 
ss,  and  I  am  not 


yet  strong.  Mother  will  explain  if  any  explana- 
tion is  needed  of  so  plain  a  fact,  that  I  am  cer- 
tainly her  daughter  and  not  yours.  Good-day,  Mrs. 
Warner.  Good-by,  Mr.  Warner.  We  hope  to  see 
you  again."     Then  she  retired. 

Mrs.  Atkins,  retuinuig,  prevailed  upon  Mrs. 
Warner  to  take  the  wine,  and  when  somewhat  re- 
stored to  discuss  the  extraordinary  and  perplexing 
complication  of  the  situation.  ]Mrs.  Atkins  learned 
for  the  first  time  of  the  personal  resemblance  of 
the  girls,  of  Bessie's  interest  in  Esther,  and  the 
effect  her  death  had  produced.  Every  point  of 
identity  was  discussed  in  search  of  a  solution.  It 
vras  a  riddle  beyond  the  reading  of  tlieir  minds. 

What  was  to  be  done?  Should  the  Warners 
persist  in  claiming  the  girl  and  force  her  to  return 
to  their  protection,  it  might  aggravate  the  trouble, 
for  both  parents  were  convinced  that  this  personi- 
fication, complete  and  mystifying  in  its  very  com- 
pleteness, must  bo  the  result  of  some  mental  dis- 
order. Finally  Mrs.  Atkins  besought  them,  as 
Bessie  was  safe  and  free  from  all  exciting  influ- 
ences under  her  roof,  that  they  would  allow  her  to 
remain.  At  the  first  sign  of  returning  self-con- 
sciousness they  should  be  summoned.  To  avoid 
comment  it  was  to  be  understood  by  others  that 
Miss  Warner  was  making  a  visit  to  the  cottage. 

The  singular  relationship,  so  oddly  begun,  be- 
147 


I  i 


THE  STRANGE  CASE  OF 

came  only  more  and  nu-ie  real  as  day  after  day 
Miss  Warner  remained  with  Mrs.  Atkins. 

At  times  tlie  mother's  sense  of  loss  was  entirely 
dispelled.  She  could  not  address  or  think  of  the 
girl  otherwise  than  as  the  child  of  her  delight  and 
sorrow.  Under  the  si)ell  of  her  presence  it  was 
impossible  to  act  otherwise  than  iu  sympathetic 
response  to  the  spirit  abiding  in  the  form  so 
strangely  the  retlex  image  of  her  idolized  Esther. 
How  could   she   reason  with   facts  quite  bc^yond 

reason? 

In  her  tirst  distress  she  had  privately  sent  a 
minute  statement  of  the  case  to  Archibald  Erksine, 
begging  him  to  come  to  her.  He  was  on  the  eve 
of  his  ordination  at  tlio  time  of  Esther's  illness; 
the  distance,  as  well  as  the  circumstances,  forbade 
the  journey.  He  had  accepted  the  great  trial  with 
the  resignation  of  a  Christian. 

Some  weeks  elapsed  before  the  young  minister 
arrived.  His  letters  meanwhile  had  been  brief 
and  to  Mrs.  Atkins  only.  The  girl  had  made  no 
comment  when  he  wrote  that  he  would  await  op- 
portunity of  explanation  when  they  met  face  to 

face. 

During  this  interval  the  Warners  had  become 
sincerely  attached  to  the  amiable  mistress  of  the 
white  cottage,  as  well  as  to  Esther  domiciled  in  'the 
person  of  their  own  child. 

148 


»I 


L 


OF 

day  after  day 

kins. 

3  was  entirely 

r  think  of  the 

er  delight  and 

.•esence  it  was 

1  sympathetic 

the   form   so 
olized  Esther. 

quite  beyond 

ivately  sent  a 
ibald  Erksine, 
svas  on  the  eve 
ither's  illness; 
;ances,  forbade 
»reat  trial  with 


^oung  minister 
ad  been  brief 
•1  had  made  no 
3uld  await  op- 
;y  met  face  to 

rs  had  become 
mistress  of  the 
omiciled  in  'the 


ESTHER  ATKINS 

They  hud  consulted  physicians  in  the  adjacent 
city,  experts  in  all  kinds  of  mental  alienation,  but 
from  no  one  of  them  could  they  learn  of  a  parallel 
case.  No  explanation  could  be  found  save  in  the 
Biblical  "possession,"  that  responded  to  a  consid- 
eration of  the  facts. 

The  girl  was  an  involuntary  actor,  ignorant  of 
the  role  she  could  not  be  said  to  play,  since  she 
was  all  that  she  appeared  to  be— except  the  earthly 
garment  in  which  she  lived  and  moved. 

They  were  advised  to  allow  Time  to  solve  the 
proDlem ,  and  since  their  daughter's  physical  health 
was  not  involved,  to  hope  for  and  expect  a  speedy 
resumption  of  normal  conditions. 

The  Warners  fre<iueutly  took  their  new  friends 
to  drive,  and  the  parental  partnership  established 
between  them  was  not  the  least  curious  and  pa- 
thetic feature  of  the  case. 

When  Archibald  Erksine  was  expected,  Mrs. 
Atkhis  had  arranged  that  "Esther"  should  be 
absent  with  the  Warners.  Their  meeting  was 
marked  by  repressed  agitation.  Erksine  could  not 
comprehend  IVIrs.  Atkins's  acceptance  of  the  iden- 
tity of  Miss  Warner  with  his  Esther,  her  daughter. 

Death  he  could  understand;  not  this  death  in  a 
new  life,  a  dual  personality  for  which  the  bereaved 
mother  felt  even  an  humble  thankfulness.  After 
all  had  been  weighed  and  debated,  she  could  only 
sigh,  "  Just  wait  and  see !  " 

Ud 


jr 


■  • 

I 


THE  STRANGE  CASE  OF 

Presently  the  carriage  stopped,  and  Esther, 
alightiug,  walked  cheerily  up  to  the  house.  Her 
mother  and  her  lover  stood  together :  he  pale  and 
constrained.  The  sight  of  one  so  easily  mistaken 
for  his  dead  sweetheart  moved  him  profoundly. 
Estlier,  on  the  contrary,  was  at  ease  and  smiling: 

"Oh,  I  never  dreamed  you'd  be  here  so  early!  " 
she  said,  extending  her  hands,  and  looking  straight 
into  his  eyes :  "  I  must  welcome  the  Ileverend  Mr. 
Erksine  with  duo  deference,  I  suppose, "  she  began 
playfully— then  paused. 

"How  changed  you  are,  Archie,"  she  cried; 
"have  you  been  ill?  Or  is  it  your  longer  hair 
and  this  new  beard  that  have  altered  you  so?  " 

It  was  in  truth  the  past  suffering  and  strain  that 
had  left  their  impress  ui)on  his  countenance— and 
a  present  overpowering  consternation!  For  this 
was  Esther!  He  could  not  gainsay  it,  any  more 
than  he  could  deny  his  own  identity.  He  had  fan- 
cied he  could  meet  her  unmoved,  conscioi;s  that  his 
promised  wife  lay  under  the  clods  of  the  church- 
yard—that he  could  defy,  perhaps  resent,  a  coi'n- 
terfeit  of  his  lost  one,  even  tho  it  had  deceived  the 
mother's  more  credulous  nature. 

But  in  an  instant  he  had  recognized  that  it  was 
Esther  indeed,  and  none  other,  who  stood  before 
him,  and  he  rallied,  took  her  hands  tenderlj .  and 
reponded  naturally,  if  not  without  effort. 

Now  it  was  the  girl  herself  who  seemed  to  with- 
150 


L 


ind    Esther, 
house.     Her 

he  pale  and 
ily  mistaken 

profoundly, 
nd  smiling : 
:e  so  early !  " 
king  straight 
;everend  Mr. 
I, "  she  began 

"  she  cried; 
r  longer  hair 
you  so?  " 
id  strain  that 
tenance — and 
n!  For  this 
it,  any  more 
lie  had  fan- 
cioi;s  that  his 
:  the  church- 
Bsent,  a  covi- 
l  deceived  the 

d  that  it  was 
stood  before 
tenderly,  and 
fort, 
emed  to  with- 


ESTHEH  ATKINS 

draw,  as  if  in  that  first  searching  gaze  she  had  read 
distrust  without  comprehending  its  cause. 

Two  evenings  later  they  were  alone  together— 
the  first  tete-a-tete  Archibald  had  dared  to  risk. 
His  brain  was  bewildered,  his  -magination  per- 
turbed; he  was  agitated  by  confusion  and  contra- 
diction. The  girl  attracted  him  painfully;  he 
knew  she  was  not  Esther,  yet  fdt  that  she  was! 
Even  the  shades  of  difference  were  imbued  with 
peculiar  fascination,  as  if  Esther  had  appeared  in 
a  fantastic  garb  or  a  strange  coiffure  that  became 
her  only  too  well. 

She  sat  thoughtfully  by  his  side  in  the  vine- 
shaded  arbor  that  had  often  been  their  trysting- 
place  during  their  simple  courtship. 

"  I  was  about  to  ask  you  to  come  hither  when 
you  led  me  without  the  asking,"  sa.d  Esther's 
voice.  "  I  often  wonder  if  speech  is  not  almost 
superfluous  between  kindred  natures.  You  know 
how  often  we  have  replied  to  each  other's  letters 
before  they  were  received,  as  they  met  and  crossed 
on  their  way.  I  wonder  now  if  y<'u  have  divined 
what  I  have  to  say  to  you?  " 

She  looked  kindly  but  sadly  into  his  eyes. 
"No,"  he  replied,  meeting  her  look  steadily;  "a 
veil  has  fallen  between  us.     Do  you  ever  feel  that 
you  are  not  exactly  the  same  Esther  who  pledged 
herself  to  me?  " 

The  girl  seemed  troubled. 
151 


THE  STRANGE  CASE  OF 

"Ytd,"  she  said,  hesitating;  "it  is  of  that  I 
wish  to  speak,  yet  1  shrink  from  the  chance  of 
giving  you  pain.  I  have  pondered  and  prayed, 
oh!  so  fervently,  of  late  for  light  and  guidance. 
I  think  I  have  received  both.  Since  my  illness  I 
can  see  things  more  clearly.  My  perceptions  are 
painfully  acute.  You  are  changed.  And  do  you 
not  see  how  mother  is  failing?  " 

"  Not  seriously,"  Archibald  answered.     "  She  is 
always  delicate." 

"You  may  not,  but  to  me  it  is  very  plain." 
Then  the  girl  continued,  as  if  she  were  repeating 
a  lesson :  "  It  fills  ray  mind  by  day  and  by  night. 
It  has  withdrawn  me  from  you.     I  am   only  a 
daughter.     I  shall  never  be  a  wife.     It  is  not  my 
vocation.     One  should  do  what  one  is  best  fitted 
for,  and  only  that.     Archibald,  you  must  release 
me  from  my  promise  to  you.     My  life's  devotion 
is  pledged  to  my  mother.     I  can  not  divide  my 
allegiance.     It  would  break  her  heart  to  be  bereft 
of  my  loving  care.     I  am  vowed  to  her  and  her 
alone.     As  I  grow  nearer  to  her  I  w'thdvaw  from 
you.     And  I  have  lost  your  ring.     I  missed  it  as 
soon  as  I  got  well.     You  seem  so  far  away— as  if, 
with  the  ring,  I  had  lost  you!  .  .  .  Help  me," 
she  said  more  naturally ;  "  you  always  did  help  me 
to  my  duty.     Return  me  my  word  and  my  freedom 
that  I  may  consecrate  all  that  remains  to  us  of  life 

to  my  mother. " 

152 


is  of  that  I 
the  chance  of 

and  prayed, 
md  guidance, 
e  my  ilhiess  I 
evceptions  are 

And  do  you 

red.     "  She  is 

1  very  plain." 
vere  repeating 
and  by  night. 
I  am   only  a 
It  is  not  my 
is  best  fitted 
I  must  release 
life's  devotion 
not  divide  my 
art  to  be  bereft 
0  her   and  her 
withdraw  from 
I  missed  it  as 
ir  away — as  if, 
.  .  Help  me," 
lys  did  help  me 
ind  my  freedom 
ins  to  us  of  life 


KSTHKR  ATKINS 

"We  have  spoken  of  this  before,  you  know," 
Archibald  said,  "  and  it  was  agreed  that  we  were 
to  share  this  solicitude  and  care.  What  has 
changed  your  mind?  " 

"Oh!  I  do  not  know,  I  do  not  know!"  cried 
the  poor  girl  in  a  perplexity  of  spirit  most  pitifully 
apparent  in  her  voice  and  expression.  "  I  only 
know  it  is  bO— that  I  have  not  been  able  to  deter- 
mine my  duty  to  you,  and  that  my  heart  is  chilled 
toward  you.  You  see,  I  can  not  touch  your  hand 
without  distress.  You  have  not  kissed  me  since 
you  came.  I  did  long  for  your  coming,  but  I  was 
not  glad  after  the  first  instant  of  our  meeting. 
The  word  of  a  promise  is  nothing  when  its  sense 
has  departed.  We  no  longer  love  each  other  as 
when  our  hearts  were  pledged.  My  illness  has 
changed  me.  The  love  I  bear  my  mother  is  the 
only  love  I  can  ever  know." 

Archibald  watched  her  with  tender  pity.  He 
understood  better  than  she  did  her  pathetic  plight. 
"Esther,"  he  said  solemnly,  as  if  he  addressed 
tho  dead,  "  by  the  power  of  the  love  I  bore  you 
once,  and  do  bear  you  now,  I  aui  made  able  to  help 
and  serve  you  as  your  best  friend.  Put  me  aside 
wholly,  if  so  it  seem  best  to  you.  Call  me  when 
you  need  me.     I  will  never  fail  you :  of  that  be 

sure. " 

"I  knew  you  were  more  than  worthy,  Archi- 
bald," she  said  after  a  pause.     "I  am  exalted  by 

153 


THE  STRANGE  CASE  OF 


your  trust.  God  will  bless,  and  iu  some  way,  in 
Hia  own  good  time,  reward  you.  Begin  a  new  life : 
seek  new  tifs.  Esther's  tomb  is  the  heart  of  her 
mother.  She  is  dead  to  you  and  to  love  forever." 
Before  he  could  reply  she  had  risen,  and  seemed 
to  dissolve  into  the  twilight,  so  quick  and  noiseless 
was  her  passing. 

Half  distraught  by  contending  emotions,  the  day 
after  this  interview  Archibald  Erskine  left  the  vil- 
lage, and  returned  to  his  mission  work  in  the  far 
West. 

•  •  •  •  ■ 
A  week  later  the  girl  arose  early.  Her  manner 
was  that  of  a  sleep-walker.  She  groped  in  the 
depths  of  the  closet,  discovering  the  garments  of 
Elizabeth  Warner  hidden  there  at  her  coming,  and 
dressing  herself  in  those,  stole  down  the  stairs  and 
passed  out  into  the  silent  morning. 

She  walked  directly  to  the  Warner  homestead. 
As  she  drew  near  the  house,  a  maid  was  sweeping 
the  front  porch.  "Good  morning,  Miss  Eliza- 
beth," said  she,  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you  home  again." 
•'  What  nonsense!  "  returnedTVIiss  Warner,  "  I've 
only  been  to  the  bridge." 

She  went  upstairs ;  her  bedroom  door  was  open. 
She  entered,  sat  down  before  the  mirror,  and  re- 
moved her  hat.  Tier  head  ached  in  a  dull,  dazed 
way      A  thick  portifere  hung  at  the  door  that  led 

into  her  mother's  room. 

154 


m 


)F 

joine  way,  in 
in  a  new  life : 
heart  of  her 
ove  forever." 
1,  and  seemed 
and  noiseless 

tions,  the  day 
,6  left  the  vil- 
jrk  in  the  far 


Her  manner 
groped  in  the 
e  garments  of 
r  coming,  and 
the  stairs  and 

er  homestead, 
was  sweeping 
,  Miss  Eiiza- 
i  home  again." 
Warner,  "  I've 

loor  was  open, 
nirror,  and  re- 
a  a  dull,  dazed 
»  door  that  led 


I 


a  )■ 


She  soemeil  to  dissolve  into  the  tw.light. 


KSTllER  ATKINS 

"  Are  yo\i  awako,  iiinnui?"  slie  asUed. 

Mr8.  WanitM'  spriuig  up. 

"Listen,  Cliarles,  liatt-n!  I'x'ssie  l.:is  come 
\»uck,"  she  gasped. 

"Thmik  Clod!  (Jo  to  her;  but  be  careful  what 
you  tell  her,"  was  his  low  reply. 

"Ves,  dear,"  ealled  Mrs.  Warner,  and  passed 
into  her  daugliter's  room. 

Kli/abetli  sat  an  if  stupefied,  staring  out  of  her 

\viiuli)W. 

"  What  is  it,  daughter?  "  lier  mother  asked. 
"Oh!    luania,    1    have    such  a  queer  headache; 
and  what  is  the  matter?     I  can  not  remember  that 
the    roses   were    blooming    yesterday.     See!    the 
bushes  are  all  in  bloom  and  in  May!  " 

"No,  no;  it  is  June  the  i'lst,  Uessie  -you  have 
forgotten,"  said  her  mother.  "Lie  down  and  1 
will  batlie  your  head.      Don't  try  to  think  yet." 

•'Why— -why  not?"  she  cried.  "Oh,  mama, 
have  I  been  ill?  Is  that  why  I  can  not  remem- 
ber?" 

Mrs.  Warner  caught  at  the  suggestion.     "  Ves, 

my  child,"  she  assented;  "quite,  (luite  ill.     Yon 

hurt  your  head,  yon  knov/,  and  have  been  flighty." 

"  Did  I  fall  on  my  way  to  the  cottage— and  was 

it  a  month  ago?  " 

"  Ves,  dear,  yes;  but  yo>i  must  not  talk  or  think 

of  it  now." 

Mrs.  Warner  was  removing  Bessie's  dress  as  she 
155 


TIIK  HTIIANOK  OASK  OF 

spokf,  fml)8ti tilting  II  wnippor,  and  I'liaxiiii,'  licf  to 
lio  upon  tlie  foucli.  Then  givint;  Iut  a  nervine, 
and  hatliinj,'  her  brows,  slio  sootlifd  her  into  a  nat- 
ural sluinhor. 

From  tliut  short  sleep  slio  awoke  to  take  up  her 
life  again  as  Eli/.abetli  Warner. 

In  roviewing  licr  condition  of  supposed  delirium, 
she  told  her  motlur  it  was  delightful  to  ho  out  of 
one's  mind,  since  all  lier  visions  had  hccn  of  a  life 
amul  lovely  scenes  liathed  in  a  luminous  lifo-giving 
atmosjihere,  in  fellowship  with  beings  of  angelic 
aspect 

She  was  not  allowed  to  dwell  upon  these  mem- 
ories; her  doctors  had  exi)ressly  forbidden  it. 

For  tlirt!0  weeks  Klizabeth  moved  about  the 
house  as  fornu'rly.  The  Warners  were  an  unde- 
monstrative family,  such  as  one  often  linds  in  New 
England;  the  daughter  of  strong  personality,  but 
always  under  the  sway  of  the  habitual  repression 
that  pervaded  the  household.  Whatever  was 
forbidden  her,  she  tried  to  dismiss  from  her 
thoughts. 

The  intimacy  of  the  families  continued.  At  the 
end  of  the  three  weeks  Miss  Warner  and  her  pa- 
rents called  one  day  as  usual  to  take  Mrs.  Atkins 
for  a  drive. 

As  the  twilight  deepened,  Bessie  became  very 
(luiet;  indeed,  she  half  dozed  in  her  seat  next 
Mrs.  Atkins.     Tliey   stopped   at  her   gate.     Mr. 

150 


■T«i:_ 


K  OK 

I  <'<>uxiii){  lior  to 
B  her  a  nervine, 
1  her  into  a  nat- 

i  to  tiiko  m*  her 

ipospd  (Iclirinni, 
;ful  to  ho  out  of 
1(1  been  of  a  life 
inoiis  life-giving 
aingH  of  angelic 

pon  these  mem- 
rbidden  it. 
)vod    about    the 

were  an  uude- 
en  finds  in  New 
personality,  but 
litual  repression 

Whatever  Avas 
miss   from   her 

tinned.  At  the 
er  and  lier  pa- 
ke Afrs.  Atkins 

ie  became  very 

her  seat  next 

ber   gate.     Mr. 


ESTIIKK  ATKIN8 

Warner   opened    tlio    door  of  the  earriage;   Mrs. 
Atkins  alighted. 

Tlun  a  voice — /■'sf/in'.i  voice — said,  as  the  girl 
Hprang  after  iier:  "  lie  careful,  mother,  the  path 
is  diiiap.  Thank  you  so  iiiiich  for  our  pleasant 
ride,  Mrs.  Warner.  I  do  think  tliey  are  doing  the 
little  uiith.  r  so  much  gootl.  Come  over  again  soon 
—do.      (iooil-night." 

Esther  led  her  mother  to  the  cottage,  while  Mrs. 
Warner  wept  over  her  Bessie's  relapse. 

Her  second  ri'turn  to  the  Warner  liomestead  oc- 
curred late  in  August,  but  her  stay  was  even  more 
brief.  Mrs.  Atkins's  health  was  visibly  failing, 
and  iho  girl's  solicitude  when  with  her  atTo(!ted 
even  the  robust  constitution  of  the  diir  jhter  uf  the 
AVarners. 

During  this  homo-staying,  Elizabeth  was  ill  at 
ease,  ane  her  parents  were  hardly  surprised  when 
she  once  again  as  adroitly  as  before  resumed  her 
post  beside  the  lonely  widow  at  the  Atkins  cottage. 

Not  many  days  after  her  third  resumption  of  the 
role  of  "Esther  Atkins,"  a  message  from  her 
reached  the  Warners.  Mrs.  Atkins  was  very  ill. 
Mr.  Warner  telegraphed  for  a  trained  nurse,  and 
Mrs.  Warner  went  at  once  to  the  side  of  the  sick 
woman,  her  heai't  full  of  distress  as  she  awaited 
the  effect  upon  her  daughter.  As  the  girl  moved 
about  the  room,  Afrs.  Warner  felt  herself  in  the 
peeseuce  of  something  superhuman. 

107 


THE  STT.ANGE  CASE  OF 


The  girl  slept  nod,  hardly  tasted  food,  seemed 
upheld  by  .-.  stvength  not  of  this  world,  sustained 
in  her  angelic  niiuisti  atious  l>y  a  faith  that  did  not 
falter,  a  love  that  could  not  fail  She  sang  by  the 
bedside  of  the  sleepless  sufferer,  soothed  her  by 
tone  and  touch — such  accents  as  never  could  have 
issued  from  Elizabeth  Warner's  lips. 

The  dying  %'7oman  recognized,  rested  in,  the  pure 
presence  of  hvv  child.  At  times  her  mind  would 
wander,  but  at  a  word  in  the  voice  of  Esther  the 
soft  eyes  would  open  upon  the  beloved  face,  the 
weak  fingers  clasp  the  beloved  hand,  the  wan  lips 
utter  some  phrase  of  endearment  to  the  daughter 
who  had  i'.  truth  been  faithful  iDito  the  end. 

The  e  id  came  so  peacefully  at  last,  as  she  lay  in 
the  yo  mg  girl's  arms,  that  the  watchers  thought 
they  s  ept.  They  loosed  her  clasp.  The  girl  gave 
one  in  ploring  look  at  the  fixed  features,  and  sank 
into  1  nconsciousness  complete  as  catalepsy  beside 
the  lifeless  form. 

In  this  condition  the  Warners  bore  her  home, 
and  her  restoration  was  followed  by  nervous  pros- 
tration little  short  of  collaps'e.  Careful  nursing 
and  rest,  seconding  her  natural  strength,  led  to 
gradual  recovery. 

Late  in  the  autumn  her  parents,  fearing  some 
local  influence  might  induce  relapse,  or  that  even 
chance  gossip  might  reveal  her  forgotten  sojourn 
under  Mrs.  Atkins's  roof,   decided  to  winter  in 

138 


OF 


ESTHER  ATKTXS 


food,  seemed 
Di'ld,  sustained 
;h  that  did  not 
lie  saug  by  the 
oothed  her  by 
ver  could  have 

ed  in,  the  pure 
er  mind  wouhl 

of  Esther  the 
oved  face,  the 
I,  the  wan  lips 
3  the  daughter 
the  end. 
t,  as  she  lay  in 
tellers  thought 

The  girl  gave 
ures,  and  sank 
italepsy  beside 

)ore  her  home, 
T  nervous  pros- 
areful  nursing 
;rength,  led  to 

,  fearing  some 
e,  or  that  even 
■gotten  sojourn 
.  to  winter  in 


Southern  California,  where  Mr.  Warner's  brother 
had  settled  some  years  before. 

In  time  the  Warner  place  passed  into  strange 
hands,  for  the  family  never  returned. 

Five  years  later,  by  one  of  those  strange  chances 
which  may  be  called  fate,  the  Rev.  Archibald  Erk- 
sine,  whose  health  had  been  impaired  by  his  ardu- 
ous labors,  was  called  to  the  rectorship  of  a  small 
but  vigorous  church  in  the  town  where  the  \V;trner 
family  resided.  Time  and  change  of  climate  had 
so  modified  the  outward  semblance  of  Miss  AVurner 
that  he  had  known  her  for  some  months  as  an  ear- 
nest and  intelligent  worker  among  his  parishioners, 
and  was  greatly  attracted  both  by  her  person  and 
character,  before  he  identitied  her  as  the  maiden 
linked  to  the  one  baffling  mystery  of  his  life. 

When  he  did  identify  her  it  was  only  to  rivet 
the  bond  between  them,  as  if  Esther  had  foreseen 
and  elected  Elizabeth  to  be  his  earthly  partner  and 
helpmeet. 

In  due  time  she  became  his  wife.  Their  first 
born  was  a  son,  and  received  the  name  of  his  ma- 
ternal grandfather.  At  the  birth  of  the  second 
child,  a  girl,  there  was  muf^h  (^ebate  on  the  subject 
of  a  name  for  her. 

The  father  sat  by  the  bed  whereon  lay  mother 
and  child. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,  Archie,'"  said  the  mother, 
159 


CASE  OF  ESTHER  ATKINS 

"  that,  if  you  have  no  objection,  I  should  like  to 
call  our  daughter  Esther.  It  is  a  sweet  old  Bible 
name,  and  I  have  a  peculiar  association  with  it. 

When  we  moved  to  C ten  years  ago,  a  young 

girl  of  that  name  died  there.  Oh !  you  must  know ; 
she  was  the  daughter  of  the  distant  relative  who 
made  you  her  heir— Mrs.  Atkins.  They  said  we 
looked  alike.  T  has  e  recalled  her  so  often  lately, 
and  I  would  like  to  keep  her  name  in  our  home.'' 

"Certainly,"  Mr.  Erksine  replied.  "  It  is  very 
sweet  and  tender  in  you  to  have  thought  of  it. 
Esther  it  shall  be." 

So  Esther  Atkins  Erksine  began  her  life.  The 
Rev.  Archibald  Erksine  was  a  model  husband,  but 
he  sacredly  withheld  one  secret  from  his  wife,  the 
his  only  daughter's  name  served  as  a  perpet'-.al 
reminder  of  the  first  and  lost  love  of  his  youth. 


16(. 


:iNS 

should  like  to 
wePit  old  Bible 
iation  with  it. 
3  ago,  a  young 
ou  must  know ; 
it  relative  who 
They  said  we 
;o  ofteu  lately, 
a  our  home.'' 
[.  "It  is  very 
thought  of  it. 

her  life.  The 
1  husband,  but 
n  his  wife,  the 
as  a  perpet''.al 
:  his  youth. 


Jacob  City 

By 

A.  Stewart  Clarke 


Illustrations 

By 

CInarles  Johnson  Post 


u 


ifii 


i 


JACOB    CITY 


i 


The  sun  is  shining  hotly  on  the  roofs  of  Jacob 
City.  'Tie  seven  o'clock,  and  yet  the  rocks,  which 
thrust  their  naked  shoulders  from  among  the  motley 
collection  of  rough  buildings  that  line  the  strag- 
gling street  along  the  bottom  of  the  gulch  and 
bunch  in  confusion  on  either  side,  still  reflect  a 
scorching  heat. 

The  air  is  dancing  and  throbbing  over  the  tops 
of  the  sage-brush  and  rising  in  waves  from  the  ribs 
of  limestone  that  seam  the  slope.  A  hundred 
houses  and  a  few  larger  buildings  with  imposing 
fronts  and  weathf  -beaten  signs,  on  which  the 
traces  of  letters  are  faintly  discernible,  clustered 
together  in  a  sun-baked  ravine ;  such  is  Jacob  City. 

The  doors  of  many  houses  stand  open,  yet  none 
seems  to  invite  hospitality;  no  smoke  rises  from 
their  chimneys  and  no  sound  breaks  the  silence 
that  broods  within  their  walls.  Piles  of  rusted 
cans  lie  here  and  there  in  heaps,  and  bottles  of 
many  shapes  and  dimensions,  in  various  stages  of 

1C3 


•,'■! 

*5 


JACOB   CITY 


preservation,  are  scattered  in  all  directions.    Sage- 
brush and  cactus  now  dispute  the  way  wliere  once 
mule-teams   dragged   their    heavy   loads   through 
blinding  clouds  of  dust.     Near  to  what  had  at  one 
time  been  the  business  center  a  pretentious-looking 
adobe  structure  stands  facing  an  open  space  over- 
grown with  briers.     The  dust  lies  thick  on  the 
broad  flight  of  wooden  steps  that  leads  to  its  main 
entrance,  over  which  "  The  Windsor,"  painted  in 
black  letters,  is  still  clearly  legible;  it  coats  the 
railings  in  front  and  clings  to  the  sills  of  the  door; 
it  crusts  the  windows  and  adheres  to  the  tattered 
curtains  inside.     Unheeded  it  covers  the  face  of 
the  big  mirror  behind  the  bar  and  rests  undisturbed 
among  the  glasses  left  where  they  had  last  been 
used.     Various  articles  of  furniture  are  scattered 
about  the  premises;  an  overturned  chair  lies  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  and  others  stand  about  a  num- 
ber of  small  tables  at  the  far  cud  of  the  room.     A 
corner  of  a  pool-table  is  visible  thru  the  open  door 
of  an  adjoining  room  and  the  dial  of  a  clock  peeps 
from  a  shelf  on  the  wall.     Cobwebs  darken  the 
windows  and  hide  iu  the  silent  halls;  they  hang 
from  the  crumbling  ceilings  and  swing  in  the  open 
doors.     Within   and   without   dust,  drought,  and 
desolation  everywhere. 

Twenty  years  before,  Jacob  City  had  been  a 
thriving  mining-camp.  Lead  was  then  selling  for 
nearly  five  dollars  and  silver  at  over  a  dollar  and 

164 


JACOH    <"[TY 


■ectioiis.    Sage- 
vay  where  once 

loads  through 
/hat  had  at  one 
;entious-lookiug 
pen  space  over- 
8  thick  on  the 
3ad3  to  its  mam 
or,"  painted  in 
le;  it  coats  the 
ills  of  the  door; 

to  the  tattered 
'ers  the  face  of 
3st3  undisturbed 
y  had  last  been 
I'e  are  scattered 

chair  lies  in  the 
lul  about  a  nuni- 
)f  the  room.  A 
ru  the  open  door 
of  a  clock  peeps 
vebs  darken  the 
balls ;  they  hang 
wing  in  the  open 
9t,  drought,  and 

;jity  had  been  a 
1  then  selling  for 
over  a  dollar  and 


a  quarter.  The  ores  that  were  mined  in  tlio  neigh- 
borliood  returned  a  handsome  profit  when  shipped 
to  Salt  Lake  City,  and  good  wages  were  paid  the 
miners.  •  liut  the  price  of  both  lead  and  silver  had 
declined  steadily,  and  with  it  the  prosperity  of  the 
camp. 

IMine  after  mine  shut  down,  and  only  those  pro- 
ducing the  richest  ores  continued  operations.  Soon 
they  were  compelled  to  close,  and  many  of  the  in- 
habitants, who  had  held  on  in  hope  of  a  change  for 
the  better,  found  themselves  too  poor  to  pay  for 
transportation  elsewhere,  and  were  obliged  to  leave 
their  belongings  and  foot  it  to  other  diggings. 

Now  no  footfall  ever  resounds  tlirough  its  silent 
streets;  unmolested,  tl  .^  coyotes  sleep  tlirough  the 
heat  of  the  day  among  the  tinsel  and  faded  finery, 
where  red-shirted  miners  were  wont  to  ogle  their 
favorites  and  "  set  up  the  wine  "  between  the  acts 
at  Doolan's  Opera-House;  unharmed,  the  badgers 
burrow  and  delve  in  the  public  square  outside,  and 
jack-rabbits  dodge  in  the  dust  as  the  sun  goes 
down.  None  remains  of  the  crowds  that  swaggered 
and  drank,  gambled  and  fought,  from  day  to  day 
save  the  silent  few  who  years  ago  went  to  their 
long  sleep  on  the  slope  of  the  hill. 

Scarcely  discernible  amid  the  gray  sage-brush 
that  covers  a  sandy  knoll,  a  few  rough  slabs  and 
pieces  of  rotten  wood  mark  the  furlorn  resting- 
place  of   the    long-since-forgotten   dead.     As  the 

1C5 


i 


JACOB    CITV 


dusk  deepens,  shadowy  shapes  steal  forth  into  the 
niglit  and  invisible  feet  tread  the  narrow  streets. 
Once  more  the  lights  of  "The  Windsor"  flicker 
and  flare  from  the  narrow  windows,  and  bunched 
in  the  little  square  outside  men  loiter  in  idle 
groups.  An  energetic  brass  band,  perched  on  Dool- 
an's  balcony,  rends  the  air  with  strident  music, 
as  if  to  make  up  in  vigorous  action  for  its  paucity 
of  numbers. 

Across  the  street  and  a  little  farther  down  the 
light  from  two  huge  torches  plays  on  the  features 
of  a  resplendent  individual,  who  is  painting  in 
glowing  terras  the  virtue  of  his  great  elixir.  Gold 
eagles  take  the  place  of  buttons  on  his  long  blue 
frock  coat,  and  his  wide,  bespangled  sombrero  is 
said  to  have  cost  five  hundred  Mexican  dollars. 
He  had  arrived  in  town  that  morning  in  a  coach 
drawn  by  six  magnificent  horses,  with  a  vision  of 
blond  fluffiness  and  peachblow  at  his  side  that  set 
the  town  agog.  Nick  Terhune  had  been  heard  to 
say  that  the  doctor's  wife  could  give  cards  and 
spades  and  little  casino  to  the  queen  of  the  Mardi 
Gras  in  New  Orleans  and  then  beat  her  out  for 

beauty. 

The  pair  are  quartered  at  the  Windsor,  where 
they  have  paid  a  fabulous  price  for  the  use  of  the 
parlor  and  best  bedroom  of  that  "  mansion  of  com- 
fort and  elegance,"  as  the  local  paper  put  it.  T^iUs 
have  been  distributed  during  the  day,  announcing 

160 


\t 


JACOl'.    CITY 


forth  into  tlio 
narrow  streets, 
mdaor"  flicker 
1,  and  bunched 

loiter  in  idle 
irched  on  Dool- 
jtrident  music, 

for  its  paucity 

rther  down  the 
on  the  features 
is  painting  in 
it  elixir.  Gold 
n  his  long  blue 
led  sombrero  is 
[exican  dollars, 
aing  in  a  coach 
with  a  vision  of 
lis  side  that  set 
L  been  heard  to 
give  cards  and 
len  of  the  Mardi 
eat  her  out  for 

Windsor,  where 
)r  the  use  of  the 
mansion  of  corn- 
ier put  it.  Tiills 
day,  announcing 


that  "a  grand  free  open-air  performance  will  take 
jjlace  every  evening  during;  the  coming  week,  at 
eight  o'clock,  in  wliicli  will  appear  some  of  tlie 
world's  greatest  artists. "  A.  stage  lias  been  erected, 
and  the  beauty  of  the  morning,  assisted  by  the 
lesser  lights  of  the  aggregation,  has  drawn  a  crowd 
that  is  proving  a  prolitable  mine  to  the  ilhiftrums 
doctor,  who  smiles  blandly  as  ho  scans  the  faces 
before  him  and  with  marvelous  dexterity  deals  out 
his  "  cure-all "  in  exchange  for  the  dollars  of  the 
eager  miners. 

Nothing  escapes  his  keen  scrutiny,  and,  as  if 
gifted  with  the  po-ners  of  divination,  ere  scarce 
desire  has  given  birth  to  decision  in  the  mind  of 
some  hesitating  applicant  the  doctor  has  taken  iu 
the  situation,  and  almost  before  his  victim  realizes 
it  he  has  parted  with  his  dollars  and  is  happy  in 
the  possession  of  the  -wonderful  nostrum. 

The  doctor  lias  studied  linman  nature  to  some 
purpose,  and  as  the  wavering  light  of  the  torches 
reveals  from  time  to  time  the  features  and  attitude 
of  the  various  individuals  before  him  he  reads  them 
as  he  would  the  pages  of  an  open  book. 

Men  of  many  lands  and  divers  races  are  there, 
some  from  remote  corners  of  the  earth,  each  bear- 
ing the  distinctive  features  of  the  country  that  has 
given  him  birth,  yet  all  having  one  resemblance  in 
common  indelibly  stamped  upon  their  features,  in- 
dicative of  the  dominant  passion  of  the  community 

107 


JACOB    CITY 


—the  thirst  for  goUl.  Fair-haired  Swedes  with 
ruddy  complexions  and  ratlier  placid,  good-natured 
faces;  Finlanders  \>iile  almost  to  sallowness,  l;ir«e- 
limbed  and  loose-jointed,  with  dust-colored  hair 
and  beards;  indolent  Mexicans  with  restless  black 
eyes  and  the  eternal  cigarette;  sturdy,  hard-fea- 
tured Scots;  robust,  dogmatic  Englishmen,  and  the 
ubiquitous  representative  of  the  Emerald  Tsle,  jostle 
one  another  as  they  come  and  go.  llepresentatives 
as  readily  recognizable  from  the  various  parts  of 
the  Union  are  not  wanting  to  complete  the  collec- 
tion. 

At  last  the  doctor  deems  it  wise  to  close  his  per- 
formance for  the  night,  and  after  a  final  sung  he 
makes  his  announcement  of  the  jirogram  for  the 
next  evening. 

"Rum  go,  that,  mate,"  remarks  a  miner  to  his 
companion  who  has  been  watching  tlio  dollars  flow 
into  the  doctor's  pocket.     "All  the  fools   ben't 
dead  yet, "  he  continues  as  they  move  up  the  street. 
"  Whisky's  good  enough  for  me— take  somethin'." 
The  bar  of  the  Windsor  is  doing  its  usual  brisk 
business  as  the  men  step  in,  and  it  is'  some  time 
before  they  are  waited  on.     At  last  the  bartender 
turns  to  them,  and  as  Jie  does  so  a  big  man  with 
massive  shoulders  and  brawny  limbs,  whose  wants 
he  has  just  attended  to,  brings  down  his  glass  with 
a  crash  on  the  bar  and  stands  staring  with  wide- 
open   eyes   apparently   at  something  just   at  his 

168 


h^ 


Swedes  with 
,  good-natured 
owness,  hirge- 
it-colored  hiiir 
.  restless  black 
irdy,  liard-fea- 
Imieii,  and  tho 
[•aid  Isle,  jostlo 
lepresentativca 
irioua  parts  of 
leto  the  coUec- 

3  close  his  per- 
,  final  song  ho 
■ogram  for  the 

a  miner  to  his 
;1;0  dollars  flow 
he  fools   ben't 
e  up  the  street, 
ike  somethin'." 
its  usual  brisk 
t  is  some  time 
t  the  bartender 
a  big  man  with 
)s,  whose  wants 
n  his  glass  with 
ring  with  wide- 
ing  just   at  his 


JACOl'.    (MTV 

elbow.  Tils  facp  in  ghastly,  liis  lips  twitcli  oonvul- 
sivoly,  and  heads  of  jxTspiration  gatlior  on  liis 
br<j\v'.  "  Tlio  t(Midorf(j(>t.  wdiuaii !  "  ii(t  gasps  in  a 
hoarse  whiaiier.  The  clatter  of  glass  as  tho  i)ar- 
tender  sweeps  tho  jiIimm^s  off  the  liar  si'onis  to  rci'all 
him.  "Busted  a  glass?  Well,  'tain't'.s  if  1 
couldn't  pay  for  it." 

"That's  all  right,  J lank,"  remarks  the  liarlon- 
der,  sliding  another  glass  toward  liim.  Tho  big 
man  fills  it  with  brandy,  and  draining  it  at  a  gulp 
he  throws  down  a  dollar  and  lurches  from  the 
room. 

"Got  'cm  bad  to-night,"  observes  tho  bartender 
as  he  takes  tho  miners'  orders.  "  Tho  tenderfoot 
woman's  been  in  her  grave  niore'u  a  year.  How's 
that?  Oh,  she's  alius  called  that  ever  since  the 
day  she  struck  camp  with  a  curly-headed  kid  in 
her  arms.  Nobody  ever  know'd  anything  'bout 
her;  give  out  her  name  was  Ibown ;  but  nobody 
b'lieved  that,  for  she  never  seemed  to  know  that 
any  one  was  talkin'  to  ]u)v  when  they  called  her 
by  that  name." 

The  tenderfoot  woman  had  kept  her  secret  well 
and  had  taken  t  '.vith  her  to  the  grave.  I'ill,  the 
stage-driver,  said  tho  day  she  arrived  that  "  she'd 
rode  the  hull  way  from  Salt  Lake  and  never  spoke 
to  any  one."  Once,  he  confessed,  he  asked  her 
"  to  have  somethin'  to  eat,  when  they'd  stopped  for 
dinner,  but  she'd  only  shook  her  head  and  dug  up 

109 


^^> 


JACOH   CITY 

somelhiii'  i<»r  tho  kid  from  a  piiiu'i-  box  hIio  car- 
ried." 

How  the  iniMcrs  laughed  when  it  boramo  noised 
iibroad  that  sho  was  ^om'  to  "take  in  wasliiu'  "I 
"  UUl  gag,  that!     She'd  wash  for  a  livui' !  " 

Hut  wash  she  did,  and  soon  Sam  Leo,  vho  China- 
man, and  his  siitellitos  were  glad  to  work  for  lier. 

Wiion  the  miners  f(>\nid  she  meant  business  tliey 
fairly  swamped  licr  with  work,  and  shu  j./ospered 
and  was  hapiiy-happy  in  her  l)oy,  tho  li^litot  lu-r 
eyes.  Men  knew  that,  as  he  grow  to  manhood,  he 
was  oftener  gambling  tlian  working;  that  ho  was 
lazy,  and  tho  fair  to  look  on,  he  was  "no  good," 
as  they  exjjresaed  it.  None  ever  told  tlio  mother 
so,  however,  and  sho  saw  in  him  only  what  was 
manly  and  brave. 

One  Christmas  night  it  happened  that  he  "  sat 
in  a  game  "  at  tho  Windsor  with  a  number  of  mi- 
ners, among  whom  was  big  Hank  Hardy,  a  noted 
"  bad  man  "  of  tho  camp.  No  one  would  say  just 
how  it  oeeurrod;  some  hinted  that  "Curly,"  as  he 
was  called,  hiid  stooped  for  some  matches  that  had 
dropped  to  tho  floor  and  had  seen  cards  on  Hank's 
knee ;  but  however  that  may  have  been,  in  the  row 
that  followed  C\irly  was  shot;  thru  the  heart.  No 
cards  were  found  on  Hank,  and  he  was  acquitted 
afterward  on  the  ground  of  self-defense. 

The  day  that  Curly  was  buried  the  tenderfoot 
woman    had    encountered    Hank    in    tho    street. 

170 


box  slio  ciir- 


bocamo  noised 
I  in  washin'  "  I 
ivin' !  " 

jOC,  Uio  China- 
work  for  lier. 
b  business  tliey 
shu  -ii/oapercd 
tlu)  liujlit  of  luT 
,0  nianliood,  lie 
j;  that  he  was 
•a3  "no  good," 
)ld  tlie  mother 
only  what  was 

d  tliat  lie  "  sat 

number  of  mi- 
I lardy,  a  noted 

would  say  just 
"Curly,"  as  he 
atches  that  had 
ards  on  Hank's 
jeen,  in  the  row 

the  heart.     No 
3  was  acquitted 
Eense. 
I  the  tenderfoot 

in    the    street. 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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1121     112.5 


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1.8 


1.4    11.6 


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Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  canadien  de  microreproductions  historiques 


I 


JACOH    CITY 


Drawing  herself  up  to  her  full  height,  she  con- 
fronted him  as  he  tried  to  slink  past  her,  and 
pointing  with  trembling  finger,  she  said:  "His 
blood  be  on  your  head  and  the  curso  of  Cain  bo 
yours! " 

"Don't  believe  Hank'U  last  the  year  out,"  re- 
marked the  bartender  as  he  made  chango  for  the 
miner  a  few  moments  later.  "  lie's  breakin'  up 
fast." 

As  the  two  men  leave  the  Windsor  an  old  man 
with  flowing  beard  and  iron-gray  hair  toils  heavily 
up  the  street.  He  has  a  l)ig  basket  on  his  arm, 
and  he  evidently  feels  it  heavy,  for  lie  changes  it 
frequently  from  arm  to  arm,  and  every  now  and 
then  he  sets  it  down  to  rest  hinifsolf.  For  a  mile 
or  more  after  he  has  cleared  the  outskirts  of  the 
town  he  climbs  slowly  upward ;  then  following  a 
trail  that  branches  olf  from  the  more  traveled  road, 
he  doubles  back  along  a  ridge  that  faces  the  town 
from  the  west,  and  crossing  the  summit  at  a  point 
nearly  opposite  that  from  where  he  had  started, 
he  follows  the  farther  side  of  the  ridge  to  where  it 
ends  in  a  rocky  butte  that  overlooks  the  valley  and 
Great  Salt  Lake  in  the  distance. 

The  moon  has  risen  now,  and  the  heavens  are 
cleav  and  cloudless.  After  disposing  of  the  con- 
tents of  the  basket  in  a  "  lean-to ''  against  the  side 
of  a  small  cabin,  perched  under  the  shadow  of  the 
butte,  the  old  man  brings  out  a  chair  and  seats 

171 


JACOIi   riTV 


himself  by  the  open  door.  He  is  breiiUiiiig  hcav' 
ily  aiul  his  limbs  tiemblc.  It  h;i;l  bci'ii  a  long 
pull  and  tlie  basket  seenieil  licavier  than  i.sual. 
j\Iany  times  a  yoar  fur  the  past  live  yeavs  he  has 
carried  that  l)asket  back  and  forth  from  the  town. 
Every  winter  has  fo!ind  him  hard  at  work  in  the 
mines,  and  every  summer  has  seen  him  prosi>eet- 
ing  the  neighboring  hills.  So  it  has  been  for  live, 
ten,  twenty,  forty  years,  in  many  parts  of  the 
country,  since  before  the  days  of  '!'.>  and  Cali- 
fornia. 

At  first,  when  others  had  struck  it  vicli,  lie  had 
wished  them  well  and  smiled  when  he  lieard  them 
talk  of  what  they  were  going  to  do  now  that  tliey 
"had  money  to  burn."     His  turn  would  come,  he 
felt  sure  of  that,  and  then— ho  had  scarcely  dared 
think  of  that !     I'Jut  as  the  days  rolled  into  months 
and  the  months  into  years,  and  the  years  stretched 
away  behind  him  like  a  long,  dusty  road,  in  which 
there  had  been  no  turning  nor  tarrying,  ho  began 
to  lose  faith  in  that  future  which  had  seemed  so 
full  of  pron\ise.     Hope  died  out  in  his  heart,  and 
tliere  remained  of  the  wayward  fires  of  youth  but 
a  flickering  flame  and  the  gray  ashes  of  old  age. 
From  the  grave  of  buried  hopes  resignation  had 
arisen  with  healing  touch,  and  whispered  that  all 
was  for  the  best;  yet  it  required  all  the  old  man's 
stedfast  faith  to  quiet  the  tunmltuous  rush  of  feel- 
ing that  came  over  him  at  the  thought  of  what 

172 


JACOB    CITY 


roathiiig  lieav- 
I  been  a  long 
er  tliTiii  i.sual. 
)  years  \io.  has 
[rom  the  tuwn. 
\t  work  in  the 

him  prosjiect- 
s  been  for  tivc, 
'   parts  of   tho 

'!'.>  ami  Cali- 

it  rich,  lio  had 
he  lieard  them 

now  that  they 
vonld  come,  he 
.  scarcely  dared 
ed  into  months 
years  stretched 
■  road,  in  which 
•ying,  ho  began 
.  had  seemed  so 

I  his  heart,  and 
}s  of  youth  but 
shes  of  old  age. 
resignation  had 
ispered  that  all 

II  the  old  man's 
3us  rush  of  feel- 
thought  of  what 


niiglit  have  been.  X  yearniii,i,'  for  tlio  love  and 
companionship  that  had  been  denied  him  tilled  his 
heart  with  vain  regret  for  the  long  years  spent  in 
fruitless  toil.  Had  it  not  been  wiser?  Ah,  who 
can  see  the  future! 

To-night,  as  the  moonlight  softened  the  outline 
of  the  hills  and  bathed  the  valley  below  in  a  silver 
sheen,  a  ilood  of  recollection  carried  him  three  thou- 
sand miles  away.  In  fancy  ho  could  see  the  little 
New  England  village  in  which  he  had  been  born. 
There,  at  the  cross-roads,  were  the  hay-scales 
where  he  used  to  play  "  I  si)y,"  and,  just  beyond, 
the  red  bridge  that  si)anned  the  river.  How  white 
the  lioiises  looked!  V(>s,  he  remembered  now,  they 
were  all  painted  either  light  yellow  or  white,  and 
many  of  the  latter  liad  green  shutters;  he  had 
never  seen  the  like  elsewhere.  Opposite  the  post- 
olHce,  a  little  farther  up  tlie  street,  was  the  \illage 
green  with  the  baseball  diamond,  where  the  boys 
from  "  up  the  road  "  and  "  down  the  road  "  used  to 
battle  on  Saturday  afternoons,  and  once  in  a  while, 
in  the  early  evening,  their  elders  indulged  in  a 
game  of  (^uoits. 

And  .  re  was  the  "  raeetin'-house."  He  re- 
membered when  he  had  found  a  key  which  would 
unlock  its  basement  door,  and  how  for  a  long  year 
he  had  kept  his  secret  with  a  proud  consciousness 
of  what  he  could  tell  if  he  only  would.  There  on 
the  brow  of  the  hill  was  a  rambling  old  house  with 

173 


JACOn    CITY 

a  giapo-vine  covering  one  end  and  a  huge  chimney 
thrust  thru  tlio  center  of  the  roof.  The  ricliest 
man  in  the  county  had  lived  there — saiil  to  be 
worth  $!.")(),(»00i  ^"^l-  there,  in  later  years,  in  that 
garden  with  its  old-fashioned  flowers,  a  pair  of 
hazel  eyes  had  looked  into  his  as  he  had  said  good- 
by.  He  could  see  the  graceful  figure,  the  clear- 
cut  features,  and  the  questioning,  half-reproachful 
look  with  which  the  announcement  of  his  coming 
departure  had  been  received. 

The  May  air  is  once  more  sweet  with  the  per- 
fume of  the  arbutus,  and  he  feels  a  mighty  tugging 
at  his  heart-strings  as  he  remembers  that  mute  ap- 
peal. Yes,  she  loved  him  then — he  knew  it  now ; 
and  he  would  meet  her  there — there,  beyond  the 
"Great  IJivide,"  where  in  the  sunlight  of  undying 
love  there  blooms  the  snow-white  flower  of  immor- 
tality. 

The  face  of  the  dying  man  lights  up  with  joy, 
and  peacefully,  as  one  who  falls  asleep,  his  eyes 
close  and  his  spirit  takes  its  flight. 


Down  in  the  town  the  night  wears  on.  At  three 
o'clock  the  streets  are  deserted,  but  in  the  Wind- 
sor barroom  there  is  a  hum  of  many  voices,  and 
men  are  seated  at  the  various  tables  engrossed  in 
divers  games.  Suddenly,  like  a  thnuderbolt,  a  wild- 
eyed  man  bursts  into  the  room  swinging  a  huge 
"  44  "  in  circles  above  his  head.    It  is  at  full  cock, 

174 


luige  chimney 
The  ricliest 
e — saiil  to  be 
years,  in  that 
ers,  a  pair  of 
had  said  good- 
ure,  the  clear- 
df-reproachful 
of  his  coming 


with  the  per- 
lighty  tugging 
that  mute  ap- 
kuew  it  now ; 
e,  beyond  the 
ht  of  undying 
iver  of  immor- 

i  up  with  joy, 
leep,  his  eyes 


on.  At  three 
in  the  Wind- 
ly  voiceS;  and 
engrossed  in 
erbolt,  a  wild- 
nging  a  huge 
3  at  full  cock, 


r 


.1 


r 


1 


i 


f^ 


JACOIJ    CITV 

and  as  he  lowers  liis  ami  tlin  Junzzlo  seoins  to  covor 
every  iii;in  in  tlio  roiuii.  Ouo  1u(jU  at  liis  t'lfuzit'd 
fuco  id  sufJioii'iit,  ami  with  one  accoid  tliore  is  a 
rush  for  the  doors.  Mia  wlio  v/oidd  hav(;  fuii;;l>^. 
like  wildcats  ovor  tlu-ir  ganso  tuinblo  ovt-r  uiiu  an- 
other in  their  eagerness  to  escape. 

'•  If  I've  got  to  die,  I'm  goin'  to  have  company!  " 
yells  the  n'aniac,  nourishing  his  weapon. 

'ri:o  bartender  peeps  from  behind  the  bar  and 
wonders  whether  ho  can  reach  his  gun ;  but  at  his 
first  movement  the  man  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
turns  his  head  <piieldy  and  listens.  The  bartender 
drops  on  his  knees  and  fairly  holds  his  breath. 
The  minutes  seem  hours,  but  at  length  he  hears 
footsteps  on  the  sidewalk — pit-jiat,  pit-pat— and 
now  they  enter  the  room. 

"  Drop  that  gun !  " 

The  man  in  the  middle  of  the  room  glances  first 
at  the  slieriff,  wlio  has  spoken  and  who  is  imme- 
diately in  front  of  him,  and  then  at  his  depury, 
some  ten  feet  to  his  right.  For  an  instant  he  hesi- 
tates, and  then  wheeling  suddenly  he  iires  point- 
blank  at  the  latter.  The  deputy's  hat  falls  to  the 
ground  with  a  buUet-hola  in  it,  and  at  the  same 
moment  he  and  the  sheriff  both  fire. 

"  You're  not  hurt,  are  you,  .Steele? "  asks  the 
sheriff  a  moment  later  as  he  stoops  over  the  body 
of  th    man  who  had  fallen  at  his  feet. 

"  >'  3.  Poor  devil,  he  must  've  been  dead  crazy." 
175 


JACon    CITV 

The  body  is  removed  to  an  adjoining  room  and 
in  a  short  time  the  gamea  are  again  in  progress. 
Nobody  ever  knows  more  about  the  man  they  bur- 
ied in  a  nameless  grave  next  day  than  that  he  had 
been  in  town  iov  several  days,  that  he  had  been 
drinking  hard,  and  that  ho  had  said  ho  had  "  been 
sheep-lierdin'." 

"  Ijucky  thing  that  Ward  and  the  deputy  hap- 
l)enod  to  bo  in  Shorty's,  wasn't  it?"  rema)  K^  a 
man  to  his  neighbor.  "Don't  believe  any  one 
else'd  had  the  nerve  to  tackle  that  chap." 

As  the  speaker  finishes  a  deep  rumbling  wakes 
the  echoes  of  the  hills.  The  window-cases  rattle, 
the  lights  go  out,  the  crowds  that  have  thronged 
the  night  scatter  to  the  four  corners  of  the  earth— 
all  except  the  silent  few  who  creep  back  to  their 
sandy  beds  on  tho  hill;  and  dust  and  desolation 
reign  once  more  in  Jacob  City. 

"Hello!  Guess  I  must  'vo  been  asleep,"  ex- 
claims Austin  Haywood,  rousing  himself  from 
where  he  had  been  resting  in  the  shade  of  an  old 
bunk-house,  near  the  "  Hidden  Treasure "  mine. 
"Storm  comin'  up,  too,  and  I'm  not  likely  to  see 
Stockton  before  twelve  o'clock,"  he  continues  as  a 
peal  of  thunder  sounds  in  the  distance.  "  Curious 
dream,  that,"  he  muses  as  he  unhitches  a  horse 
standing  near.  "  lUit  if  lead  keeps  up  the  old 
mine's  worth  leasing." 

176 


r 


L 


iiig  loom  and 
in  progress. 

lan  they  bur- 

1  that  he  had 
lie  had  been 

10  had  "  been 

deputy  hap- 
"  remai  Ki.  a 
eve   any  one 
vp." 

mbling  wakes 
f-cases  rattle, 
ave  thronged 
)f  the  earth — 
back  to  their 
lid  desolation 


asleep,"  ex- 
himself  from 
uide  of  an  old 
asure  "  mine. 
;  likely  to  see 
continues  as  a 
3e.  "  Curious 
tches  a  horse 
3  up   the  old 


Selma  the  Soprano 

By 

Mabel  Wagnalls 

Illustrations 

By 

Freeland  A.  Carter 


12 


177 


I 


r 

! 


si:lma  tiik  soprano. 

"I  lidld  it  inic  th:U  llimiglitH  nro  iIiuikh, 

I'.IMlllWcd   Willi   bllllU'H,   biL'.ltll,  and  WlllgH, 

And  iit'tci'  >(iu  lijivi!  (juilo  foi'not 
(»r  ill!  <)Utf,'i()wn  Honiu  vnnUhi'd  thiinglit, 
liark  to  your  mind  to  niaku  iIm  liuiiio 
A  du\o  or  iiiu'ii  It  will  CDinc." 

—  Ella  Wheeler  W'tlcox. 

IXTUODirCTIOX. 

As  a  background  to  tlie  situations  of  the  ensuinR 
narrative  tlio  reader  must  lio  acquainted  with  an 
event  that  occurred  many  years  before  in  Kings- 
tun,  Tenn.  X  woman  named  Margaret  Holmes, 
who  had  been  couvicted  of  the  murder  of  her  lius- 
band,  was  sentenced  to  bo  hanged  on  the  morning 
of  June  .'?,  IS — .  The  day  arrived,  tho  crowd  as- 
sembled, and  tho  woman  was  led  to  her  doom. 
They  say  she  mounted  the  steps  without  support, 
and  faced  the  throng  without  wincing.  She  had 
left  her  long  brown  hair  loose  and  flowing,  and 
wore  a  plain  white  cotton  gown.  When  the  sheriff 
bade  her  speak  her  last  words,  she  replied : 

"There  is  nothing  to  say." 

But  then  a  strange  tiling  occurred.  As  tho  pos- 
179 


I'll 


\\ 


SELMA  THE  SOVRANO 

sessed  by  a  sudden  idea,    lie  began  singing,  simply 
as  a  chilli — 

"   Mid  pluasurus  ami  i)alaccs,  tin)  wc  luny  roam." 

She  did  not  seem  to  cave  whether  the  peojue  liked 
it,  or  even  listened.  Her  manner  was  like  one 
sing'.ng  to  herself. 

But  the  rough  crowd  did  like  it,  and  listened 
with  growing  intensity,  for  her  voice  was  strong 
and  clear,  and  her  last  heart-throbs  seemed  to  be 
finding  expression  m  this  sweet  song. 

"A  clmnu  from  Iho  skies  Keums  to  hallow  uh  there  " 
She  sank  to  her  knees,  and  the  words  seemed  a 

prayer. 

It  must  indeed  have  l)een  wonderful  and  heart- 
moving  to  see  this  pale  woman  with  fettered  hands 
and    the   gallows   for   a   background    singing    of 

Home. 

The  effect  on  her  hearers  bpcame  greater  Avith 
ev(;ry  phrah.3.  Not  a  movemeut  or  a  whisper 
marred  the  spell. 

"Ami  the  birds  singing  gaily 
That  came  at  my  call, — 
Give  mc  them  v/ilh  that  peace  of  iniiid 
Dearer  than  all." 

The  last  sweet  words  of  the  ballad  fell  from  her 
lips.  There  were  birds  singing  about  her,  and  all 
natur<  seemed  to  breathe  of  ]oy ;  but  birds  and 
music  do  not  concern  the  law. 

ISO 


■ 
4 


'^_, 


() 


SELMA  THE  SOTMIAXO 


iigiiiy;,  simply 

liny  roani." 

,e  peojile  liked 
was  like  oue 

,  ami  listened 

ce  was  strong 

seemed  to  be 

iiw  UH  tlieru  " 
jrds  seemed  a 

fill  and  heart- 
fettered  hands 
d    suignig    of 

e  greater  with 
or   a  whisper 


)f  iiniul 

d  fell  from  her 
ut  her,  and  all 
but  birds  and 


The  hangman  stepped  forward  and  laid  his  liand 
U'lon  the  woman's  shoiilder.  It  was  at  this  mo- 
ment, so  wo  arc  told,  that  a  force  mightier  than 
the  law  began  to  reveal  itself. 

There  was  a  murmur,  at  first  slight,  but  soon 
augmented  by  many  voices,  and  then  a  movement. 
Like  one  creature  tlio  crowd  swayed  foiward,  and 
a  cry  arose  louder  and  lugher — "  Release  her!  " 

They  clambered  on  to  the  scaffcjld  ami  wrenched 
the  rope  from  the  sherifi's  hand.  Then  their  im- 
pulse grew  to  a  fury.  They  tore  the  rope  apart, 
and  cut  it  and  stamped  u[)oii  it.  The  gallows  too 
was  attacked.  They  broke  it,  and  split  it,  and 
chipped  it,  and  whittled  it  until  no  semblance  of 
a  gallows  remained. 

The  sheriff  and  jailer  were  powerless,  and  there 
was  nothing  to  do  hut  lead  the  prisoner  back  to 
jail. 

The  affair  was  talked  about  far  and  near,  and 
ere  long  there  was  presented  to  the  governor  such 
an  overwhelming  petition  for  pardon  that  he  could 
not  do  otherwise  than  grant  it— as  her  conviction 
had  been  upon  circumstantial  evidence  only. 

We  learn  that  after  the  pardon  she  lived  with 
her  only  child,  a  boy  named  Arthur,  in  a  small 
house  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town. 

Years  Avent  by.  The  murder  remained  a  mys- 
tery, and  Margaret  Holmes's  innocence  was  still 
unproved  when  she  died,  some  ten  years  later. 

181 


:  ! 


SELMA  THE  SOPRANO 

After  burying  Ins  iiiotlicr,  Arthur,  now  grown 
to  niaiihdod,  moved  to  Knoxvillo,  the  nearest  town 
of  any  size.  Thereafter  only  investigatinc;  law- 
yers, and  some  few  participants  of  the  scene,  ever 
referred  to  it.  But  this  picture  of  his  mother's 
terrible  trial  was  indelibly  imi)ressed  upon  Ar- 
thur's mind.  Tlio  shadows  of  dead  men's  deeds 
are  like  those  of  a  dying  day :  they  measure  much 
greater  than  the  forms  that  east  them.  The  dark- 
ness of  a  crime  reaches  far  down  the  avenue  of 
Time,  and  the  jteople  who  come  near  it  change 
tlieir  life's  course  to  avoid  it.  Fur  we  are  timid 
mortals,  who  quake  and  shake  at  shadows. 

CHAPTER   I. 

Artiiuk  Holmes  was  destined  to  succeed,  for  he 
was  one  who  took  life  seriously  and  wasted  no 
time.  He  entered  the  printing-office  at  Knoxville, 
and  in  two  years  had  attained  an  editorial  position. 
And  ^vith  it  all  he  was  frugal  and  of  simple  tastes. 

He  rented  room.,  in  the  house  of  a  crippled  old 
lady  whose  only  maintenance  was  the  income  thus 
derived,  and  whose  only  solace  was  an  occasional 
visit  from  thoughtful  friends.'  Arthur  frequently 
spent  an  hour  in  her  presence,  reading  or  talking 
to  pass  the  time.  It  was  here  that  he  first  met 
Selma. 

She  was  singing  before  he  entered  the  room,  and 
1S3 


0 

r,  now  grown 
>  nearest  town 
;tigaLi])£;  law- 
he  scene,  ever 
'.  his  mother's 
jed  upon  Ar- 
l  men's  deeds 
measure  much 
n.  The  dark- 
the  avenue  of 
ear  it  change 
r  we  are  timid 
adows. 


succeed,  for  he 
ind  wasted  no 
e  at  Kuoxville, 
torial  position. 
I  simple  tastes. 
I  a  crippled  old 
he  income  thus 
I  an  occasional 
;hur  frequently 
xling  or  talking 
at  he  first  met 

1  the  room,  and 


SELMA.  THE  SOPRANO 

when  he  knockeil  at  \ho.  door  ho  heard  tlio  inter- 
rupted phraso  end  in  a  dainty  musical  shriek  of 
startled  surprise.  Then  followed  the  merriest  kind 
of  a  sweet-toned  laugh  aecompanying  the  light 
footsteps  of  the  singer,  who  came  forward  to  open 
the  door. 

It  would  iiardly  be  an  exaggeration  to  say  that 
Arthur  Holmes  was  in  love  witli  Selma  before  he 
saw  her.  But  when  she  stood  before  him  and 
opened  her  big  brown  eyes  with  surprise  to  see 
this  handsome  young  man — why,  then  Arthur 
thought  her  adoiable. 

The  invalid  intnulueed  the  young  people,  and 
told  all  about  Selma:  how  she  had  just  returned 
from  tlie  East  after  a  two-years'  course  of  music, 
and  how,  thoughtful  as  ever,  she  had  lost  no  time 
in  coming  to  sing  for  her  helpless  old  friend. 

"  Do  sing  on, "  implored  our  young  editor ; — "  un- 
less you  object  to  my  listening?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  answered  Selma.  "  Wliat  shall 
I  sing?  Do  you  like  'Carmen'?"  And  then, 
without  waiting  for  an  answer,  she  commenced  the 
"  Habenera."  She  imparted  such  an  amount  of 
witchery  to  this  wild  gypsy  melody  that  one  could 
almost  hear  the  castanets  and  see  the  dancing. 

When  the  song  liad  come  to  an  end,  Arthur, 
thoroughly  enraptured,  murmured:  "I'leasc  sing 
more." 

Then  she  sang  an  "  Ave  Maria."     If  before  she 
183 


SELMA  THE  SOI»RAN(> 

had  looki'd  lila;  a  gypsy,  now  slio  looked  like  a 
mm,  as,  standing  near  the   window,  the  light  of 
the  setting  sun  illumined  her  expressive  features. 
But  she  was  not  conscious  of  this,  nor  striving  for 
any  effect,  for  she  had  ])econie  lost  in  her  singing 
the  enchantment  of  sweet  melody.     The  gather- 
ing twilight  enwrapped  her  in  a  veil  of  mystery,  and 
her  listeners,  too,  seemed  enthralled  by  the  power 
of  the  hour  and  the  music.     The  last  song  she  sang 
was  the  sweetest  of  all— a  German  ballad,  "Ich 
liebe  dich  "  ("I  love  you'').     One  might  suppose 
this  selection  was   prompted   by  some   impulse  of 
coquetry;  but  Selma  had  no  such  thought.     The 
song  is  a  famous  one,  and  had  merely  suggested 
itself.     Once  launched  upon  its  tender  st  rain,  Selma 
sang  with  her  soul  in  the  Avords.     They  were  Ger- 
man, however,    and  evidently   not  understood   by 
the  invalid  at  least,  for  she  said  when  the  song 
was  done:  "It  seemed  to  be  telling  a  beautiful 
story." 

But  Arthur  was  silent.  This  method  of  appro- 
bation was  rather  jnizzling  to  Selma.  It  led  her 
to  infer  that  ho  understood  neither  (ierman  nor 
music. 

She  presently  started  to  go,  and  softly  sang  the 
opening  words-  of  the  love  duo  from  "  Faust " — 

"I  must  liasU'ii  away.— it  growoth  lute." 

She  continued  to  warble  the  melody  as  she  was 
184 


I 


ooked  like  a 
the  light  of 
sive  features, 
ir  striviiif^  for 
u  her  singing 
The  giither- 
'  mystery,  and 
by  the  power 
song  she  sang 
lialhul,  "Ich 
night  suppose 
lie  impulse  of 
honght.  The 
;ely  suggested 
•  strain,  Selma 
lioy  were  Ger- 
inderstood  by 
hen  the  song 
g  a  beautiful 

hod  of  ai^pro- 

L.     It  led  her 
I-  (ierman  nor 

oftly  sang  the 
"  Faust  "— 

li  late." 

jdy  as  she  was 


SELMA  THE  SOrRANO 

putting  on  Iht  hat.  When  she  came  to  the  pause 
where  the  tenor  voice  should  come  in,  great  was 
her  surprise  to  hear  the  part  taken  up  and  (piietly 
hummed  by  Arthur.  She  turned  around,  smiling, 
and  quickly  joined  in  with  the  soprano  music. 
Arthur,  too,  was  smiling  as  they  finished  with  a 
vociferous  "la-la"  this  great  and  grand  tluet. 

"Then  you  do  know  music,"  annovmeed  Selma, 
evidently  pleased  at  the  discovery. 

"Just  enough  to  love  it,"  was  the  more  modest 
than  truthful  answer,  for  .\rthur  was  naturally 
musical,  and  had  learned  a  good  deal  of  the  art. 

They  both  said  "  Good-day  "  to  the  invalid,  and 
Arthur  accompanied  Selma  home.  lie  talked  of 
the  few  operas  ho  had  heard  and  tlie  many  he 
wanted  to  hear,  and  Selma  promised  to  sing  for 
him  all  of  her  best-known  arias.  She  found  out 
also  that  he  knew  German,  and  had  understood 
every  word  of  "Ich  liebe  dich." 

All  this  during  their  first  short  walk  together. 
They  saw  each  other  frequently  after  this— most 
often  at  the  house  of  their  mutual  friend,  the 
invalid;  but  sometimes,  too,  at  Selma's  home. 
Here,  with  her  piano  and  all  her  books,  they  had 
glorious  hoiu-s  of  nuisic.  Harmony  itself  seemed 
to  be  drawing  them  together.  She  sang  to  him 
and  taught  him  her  favorite  songs,  and  she  told 
him  and  described  to  him  all  tlie  operas  she  knew. 
Of  these,  "  Hamlet "  was  the  one  she  loved  best. 

185 


SELMA  THE  SOPRANO 

"  It  is  music  to  eutliiall  one!  "  kIip  impulsively 
excliiiiiied,  as  they  wero  turning  over  the  s.'30re  one 
(lay.  "  The  opera  ditTers  from  the  play,  you  know ; 
it  lias  in  it  the  sciene  where  Ophelia  die;-: — the  aiad 
scene — the  most  heautifri  thing  you  ever  heard  or 
imagined.  It  abounds  in  the  vagaries  of  a  de- 
mented mind — mingled  joy  and  sorrow;  tho  really 
the  saddest  of  all  is  where  she  tries  to  be  gay,  for 
throughout  all  the  music  there  is  a  ring  of  perpet- 
ual pain." 

Here  Selma  softly  played  one  part  and  sweetly 
sang  thf^  melody.  Arthur  was  turning  the  music 
for  her,  aiu^  they  both  together  went  on  through  the 
scene.  It  was  a  fascinating  task.  Selma  would 
hum  and  sing  and  play,  or  i)erhai)s  read  ahmd  the 
text,  while  Arthur,  standing  beside  her,  would  also 
sing  snatehes,  or  whistle  a  phrase,  or  beat  the  time 
as  the  occasion  required. 

More  often,  when  she  knew  it  not,  he  was  look- 
ing at  her  instead  of  at  the  score.  lie  longed  to 
touch  her  wavy  hair  or  the  curve  of  her  pretty  ear. 
Sometimes  he  leaned  down  very  near — so  as  to  see 
tho  fine  print  of  the  music.  Xot "  mad  ''  nor  "  sad, " 
but  only  glad  seemeil  the  music  that  day  to  him. 

"Where  Selma  remembered  tluj  words  she  would 
stand  up  and  sing,  interspersing  her  performance 
with  bits  of  description  as  her  imaginalion  dic- 
tated. 

"Ophelia  tries  to  sing  an  old  ballad;  but  the 
18G 


<.l\t 


\0 


SELMA  THE  SOPRANO 


IP  impulsively 
•  the  s.'30ie  one 
ay,  you  know ; 
dicK — tlu)  mail 

evor  heard  or 
.ries  of  a  de- 
5W;  tlio  really 

to  be  gay,  for 
ing  of  perpet- 

rt  and  sweetly 
ing  tl'e  music 
on  tlirough  the 
Selnia  would 
read  aloud  the 
ler,  would  also 
i-  beat  the  time 

;,  he  was  look- 
Ile  longed  to 
her  pretty  ear. 
r — so  as  to  see 
id ''  nor  "  sad, " 
;  day  to  him. 
ords  she  would 
ir  performance 
lagiuaiion  dic- 


allad;  but  the 


poor  girl  has  .scarcely  begun  before  she  forgets  all 
about  it,  and  breaks  out  into  a  wild,  ringing  laugh 
and  then  into  passioniitc  snl>s.  It  is  all  done 
in  music,  you  know — perfect  rhythm  and  liar, 
mony." 

Helma  then  sang  for  him  that  wonderful  staccato 
laiigh  of  the  opera  with  its  brilliant  high  note  fol- 
lowed by  the  moaning,  melodious  minor  sob. 

"I  could  cry  as  I  sing  it,"  she  declared  impres- 
sivel}-, — '"tlie  music  reveals  so  mucli.  It  is  grief 
without  hope  and  joy  wiiliont  memory  alterna- 
ting in  the  mind  of  the  mad  girl." 

Arthur  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  he 
spoke  quite  thoughtfully. 

"Do  you  know,  the  music  makes  tlio  plot  all 
wrong!  If  Ophelia  sang  anything  like  that,  do 
you  know  what  the  result  must  have  been?  " 

He  had  cla.sped  Seima's  hand  in  h'::,  and  was 
looking  tenderly  into  her  eyes. 

"If  she  sang  like  that,  I  say,  Hamlet  must  have 
loved  her  and  clung  to  her  in  spite  of  his  father's 
ghost!" 

He  pressed  her  soft  hand  to  liis  lips;  but  at  the 
same  time,  even  as  he  spoke  the  word,  something 
seemed  to  clutch  at  his  heart— a  memory,  a  fact, 
f,  phantom:  his  own  fat/irr  Jiad  hei-Ji  munlered! 
Why  did  he  think  of  this  now? 

For  one  moment  Arthur  seemed  far  away  from 
Selma,  and  a  chill  silence  encompassed  him.     ]5ut 

187 


i 


SELMA  Tin:  S(»im;a\o 

soon,  willi  a  (listiuct  ciloit,  ho  released  himself 
from  the  llioii^ht. 

lie  stenjied  nearer  to  Sehna,  and  heard  her  say- 
i.ig  softly,  as  she  iingered  the  piano  with  lu  v  liand 
that  was  free : 

"  Hut  Hamlet  does  love  Ophelia  even  more  in 
the  opera  than  in  the  play.  See,  this  is  his  love- 
song  -  the  most  beantiful  theme  in  the  opera." 
;\nd  she  sang  qnielly  this  lovely  melody,  which 
is  indeed  the  eenter-stoiie  of  the  musical  cr^wn 
that  Thomas  lias  given  to  Shakespeare's  "  Ham- 
let." 

"Doubt  tluU  tlie  stars  arc  lire, 
Doubl  that  the  sun  dotli  move, 
Doubt  'rniili  to  hf  a  liar, 
l?iit  nt'vii'  doubt  I  love  I  " 

"It  is  glorious!  "  murmured  Arthur.  "Sing  it 
again — do!  " 

She  repeated  it,  and  he  sang  with  her;  and  after 
the  last  line — "  never  doubt  I  love  " — he  softly 
added,  "  you !  " 

It  was  scarcely  more  than  a  whisper;  but  Selma 
turned  as  she  heard  it,  and  their  eyes  met  in  one 
glad  glance  of  recognition. 

"Selma,  how  I  love  you!  "  he  softly  exclaimed. 
"  Your  music  transports  me !  I  am  in  heaven 
when  I  hear  you." 

He  drew  her  gently  toward  him,  and  as  he  did 
so  gazed  on  her  face  with  a  look  of  absolute  rever- 

188 


ased   liiinself 

card  hov  say- 
k'ith  Ih  V  liand 

jven  more  in 
is  is  his  love- 
tlie  opera." 
li'lody,  which 
uisical  cr^wu 
Eiarc's  "  Ilum- 


0V(>, 


ur.     "  Sing  it 

ler;  and  after 
!"— he  softly 

3r;  but  Selma 
!3  met  in  one 

;ly  exclaimed. 
m    in   heaven 

md  as  he  did 
bsolute  rever- 


SELMA  THE  SOl'KANO 

ence.      Her  music  wan  to  him  like  something  di- 
vine, and  she  herself  a  precious  treasure. 

"Selma,  Ciiu  you  know  how  hapi)y  I  am?" 

"Yes,  I  knc ,"  was  her  impulsive  answer, 
"for  I  too  am  so  happy!  Arlliur,  it  seems  as  tho 
we  have  always  loved  each  other !  " 

She  hid  her  face  on  his  shoulder,  and  ho  stroked 
her  hair  and  kissed  it  between  the  words  that  he 
murmured ; 

'•  It  is  true.  W<3  have  lu'eded  no  words  to  un- 
derstand, but  have  read  each  other  like  an  open 
book.  \ou  must  have  known  my  feelings  from 
tho  first." 

And  then  she  again  answered:  "Yes!  And 
your  presence  affected  me  so!  I  wanted  to  be 
near  you  every  moment.  To  have  you  the  other 
side  of  tho  room  seemed  far  away." 

She  was  looking  up  now,  and  her  face  was  quite 
aglow  with  the  earnest  joy  of  her  words.  "  A  rthur, 
it  is  so  restfui  to  bo  near  you!  "  She  looked  long 
and  steadily  at  the  face  she  loved.  She  admired 
his  deep,  thoughtful  eyes  that  always  told  so  much 
more  than  his  words — tho  when  he  spoke  his  vi- 
brant voice  had  never  failed  to  thrill  her  as  it  did 
now. 

"  I  believe,  Selma  dear,  that  such  love  as  ours  is 
a  gift  that  is  seldom  bestowed;  it  is  something  to 
cherish  and  guard.  ^Ve  were  meant  for  each 
other.     It  can  not  be  otherwise." 

189 


L 


1 


SKLMA  Till-:  SUl'KANO 

And  all  tli.1t  iiflernooii  tho  imisic  of  lovo  in  llioir 
heartu  was  altuufd  to  tlio  iieri'tict  liai  niony  of  tlu'ir 
natinoa.  They  really  believed  that  Heaven  was 
gliding  them,  and  tho  angels  were  smiling  upon 
tliem.  Terhaiis  they  were  smiling— sadly— at  the 
paucity  of  human  joy. 

It  is  true,  indeed,  that  Arthur  and  Selma  loved 
each  otlier  in  a  way  that  others  who  had  never  ex- 
jievionecd  it  could  not  even  ooniprehend.  And  so 
Selma'a  niotlicr  did  not  realize  the  extent  of  tho 
pain  she  was  causing  when  she  vigorously  oi)posed 
their  engagement.  She  was  a  Southern  woman, 
somewhat  proud  of  her  aristocratic  lineage,  and 
particularly  proud  of  her  only  daughter.  It  is  not 
surprising  that  Mrs.  ;Marvin'8  blood  ran  cold  at  the 
idea  of  Selma's  marrying  a  man  whose  mother  had 
been  convicted  of  murder,  sentenced  to  be  hanged, 
and  actually  stood  under  the  gallows,  and  who,  tho 
released,  had  never  been  proven  innocent. 

Selma  had  not  taken  this  view  of  the  matter, 
and  it  was  no  easy  task  to  disabuse  her  of  the  idea 
that  loving  a  man  was  sufJicient  reason  for  marry- 
ing him.  It  is  doubtful  whether  she  ever  changed 
her  mind  on  this  point;  but  certain  it  is  that  after 
three  days  of  tears  and  argunu'nts,  IMrs.  Marvin 
persuaded  Selma  that  she  was  too  young  to  know 
her  own  mind,  and  that  it  is  always  best  to  obey 
one's  mother. 

Mrs.  ]\Iarvin  dictated  a  letter  of  polite  dismissal 
190 


ttl 


ovo  in  their 
uiiy  of  tht'ir 
loaven  was 
niling  upon 
idly — at  tlie 

Soliiia  loved 
ul  never  ex- 
ul.  And  so 
xtout  of  tho 
isly  opposed 
I'm  woman, 
lineage,  and 
r.  It  is  not 
n  cold  at  the 
I  mother  had 
3  be  hanged, 
ind  who,  tho 
ent. 

the  matter, 
r  of  the  idea 
n  for  marry- 
3ver  changed 

is  that  after 
Mrs.  Marvin 
)ung  to  know 

best  to  obey 

lite  dismissal 


8KLMA  THK  SOl'UANO 

to  Arthur,  and  lUeu  sunt  her  daughter  back  to  Now 

Vork. 

Selma  grew  a  little  tliin  and  a  little  jialc;  but 
she  was  not  given  to  complaining,  and  heiico  no 
one  fully  realized  the  heartache  she  endured. 
There  were  times  when  she  could  not  work  or  talk 
or  sleep. 

As  for  Arthur,  tho  contents  of  that  letter  camo 
upon  him  like  a  crushing  blow.  Strange,  liow  one 
small  sheet  of  paper  caii  carry  such  a  heavy  weight! 
For  the  previous  month  he  had  been  living  in  a 
perfect  enchantnie'it  of  juusic,  and  Selma's  spirit 
of  loveliness  had  iilled  his  soul  every  hour.  JIo 
had  been  carried  as  in  a  dream  to  his  pro[)osal. 
lUit  this  letter  was  a  cruel  awakening.  Ho  was 
brought  back  to  thought  and  to  pain — a  pain  that 
sank  deep  in  tho  old,  old  groove,  recalling  the  past 
and  his  mother.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  he  divined 
tho  reason,  and  that  something  of  bitterness  came 
into  his  heart  as  the  lirst  sting  of  paiu  wore  away? 

CHAPTEll    II. 

Thk  winter  months  wore  by.  Selma's  busy  life 
in  the  rushing  city  served  to  divert  her  thoughts, 
but  her  feelings  toward  Arthur  did  not  change, 
altho  she  tried  earnestly  to  forget. 

lUit  now,  after  all  her  endeavor,  Fate  f.'rangely 

interfered.     The   unlooked-for,  tho  undreamed-of 

occurred. 

191 


SKLMA    rilK  SOIMIANO 


Tlii\  inuoi'vuci'  of  Arthur  JInlmr.iH  iitothci'  wis 
siiililiii/i/  jirurn/  mill  I'sfiifi/ls/ied. 

Seliiiii's  first  iiitiiiialiouof  tho  fact  t'tvnio  throii;,'li 
'A  lutwHpiipi'r  uotiio  whiih  to  her  eyes  Kcomed  em- 
bluzoiii'il  111  iiiii^iiitiutl  Icttoi'S. 

This  i.s  wliat  hIii'  rt'iul : 

A  TiNM  ■'*ii:  MviKitv  Sai.vKit. 

After  liftwii  yfaiH  o(  hIUikt.  a  CDiivict  in  Diikniii  coii- 
fcHHcs  (111  hin  (Iciiil.-lHil  to  thf  iimnliT  of  Miitlnw  lloliius. 
iifiiim' wliiili  :iL  the  tillio  l.tl  K'  Hi"  iiKwl  t'Xfilili),'  tiiul 
ami  (Iniiuiitic  lulmiiialion  ivcr  ilmiilieil  in  fact,  or 
(Ircaiiied  of  in  tloiion. 

Tlie  pri'si'iii  Holiitioiiof  the  long  inyHU'i-y,  far  froiuHim- 
plifyiMf,'  lUo  affair,  athU  another  wonder  U.  llu'  tale,  anil 
eau.ses  ii.s  to  Niinililer  i'.l  ilu'  poshihilitieH  of  iai«tako  from 
circuiiistaiilial  eviileiice. 

Malhevv  IloinieH  was  imir.lereil  in  Kingston,  Teiin.,  Oct. 
V2,  IH— ,  In  tho  front  room  of  liiH  own  home,  at  six 
o\'lotk  ill  llm  eveiiiiii,'.  A  n.iulibor,  hearinj,'  his  cry, 
rnsiicd    into  the    house  Hcarcely   two  niiiuiles   later— and 

tliere  Haw  the  dyiiiK  "nvi'  "»  l''"  ♦'""''  "'"'  ''"'*  ^^''"  ''''"'"« 
over  liini,  while  the  weapon  (a  knife  from  the  siipper-lable) 

was  near  by. 

She  told  an  incoherent  mory  of  having  ju.stcome  in  from 
tho  back  yard,  and,  hearing  a  iscullle  in  the  front  room, 
had  ru.shed  forward  to  interfere  between  her  hu.sl)and  and 
a  Ktraiige  man  whom  she  did  not  .recognize.  .lust  then  her 
husband  reeled  and  gave  a  cry,  wlureupon  the  Ktranger 
clambered  out  of  the  open  side  window. 

This  was  her  Ktory  ;  but  no  one  heeded  it,  because 
Matliew  Ib.lmes,  with  his  dying  breath,  pointed  <lirectly 
toward  her,  saying,  "There-s  the  one  that  <lid  it:"  He 
lived  on'  /  a  few  mouienis. 

102 


NO 

I's   innthcr  was 

•t  canio  lliroiigh 
,'03  si'cmeil  eui- 


.vi;ii. 

ct   ill  DiiWiilii  coii- 

Miiiluw  llolnu'H, 

(psi  t'xciiiiig  trial 

■IIiimI    ill    fuel,  or 

ery,  fur  from  niiii- 
r  to  till'  lule,  uiiil 
!H  of  iiiinlako  from 

l^stoii,  'rt'iiM.,  Oct. 
wii  liom(\  at  BIX 
liL'iiriiij,'  his  cry, 
limilis  later— uiul 
tl  his  wife  Ifaiiiiig 
11  thi;Niii>l)or-labk') 

;  juslcoiiio  ill  frntn 
ill  lliu  front  room, 
II  her  hushaiul  and 
ize.  Jiwt  Uit'ii  her 
■upon  llio  Hlraiigur 

leudud  it,  bi'cauHo 
li,  pointed  directly 
tlKit  did   it  I"     IIo 


8KLMA  THK  SnlMtANO 

MarRarct  IIoliiifH  \v;m  at  oiico  arrcHifil.  Her  Htory  wiva 
invcHliKUlrd  Homt'whal,  hut  no  <inc  could  testify  to  Imviiig 
Hceiuuiy  HiraiiKer  about  town.  Anil  liie  dyiiiK  man'HaK- 
wirtloii  weiKlied  ho  heavily  UKaiiiHt  her  that  «liti  wa« 
promptly  convicted  uiid  Henteiiced  to  he  haii|L(t'd  on  tho 
third  of  .lime  fullowiiiK. 

Kverylliiii^  wiw  mad«<  ready  for  the  execution,  hut  iil  I  ho 
ln«t  moment  there  wna  a  midden  revolution  of  public  feel- 
\\\^  in  lier  favor,  cauMcd  by  tlie  fuehiiiK  words  of  u  Hong 
whidi  Nhc  Huii!,'  on  the  nalloWH  i)lalforiii.  Her  release  wiw 
denninded,  and  she  wan  eventually  pardoned  by  tho  gov- 
ernor. 

Tn  tiie  li^;ht  of  later  facts  her  hour  seems  to  liav«  been  a 
direct  inspiration,  mid  her  escape  truly  providential. 

It  nnw  appears  that  her  story  was  entirely  I'ciriect.  A 
tramp  convict  who  has  lately  dieil  in  the  prison  lio.spital 
at  Yankton.  Dakota,  leaves  a  coiifeHHlon  to  the  following  . 

effect: 

He  was  wivmlerinR  through  Kingston  on  the  evening  of 
Oct.  12,  18—,  when,  as  he  VHJerud  In  the  window  of  a 
low  friinii^  house,  he  saw  a  man  counting  over  some  money, 
which  he  presently  left  lying  on  the  table.  The  would-be 
robber  then  slipped  in  at  the  wimlow  and  tried  to  grab  the 
money;  but  ho  was  discovered  l)y  the  owner,  and  a  sharp 
struggle  ensued,  in  which  the  latter  was  stabbed  to  death 
with  one  of  his  own  table-knives.  Tim  murderer  escaped 
by  tlie  way  he  had  entered,  just  as  a  woman  rushed  in.    .   .    . 

It  is  easy  for  us  now  to  understand  how  the  dying  man 
in  hi8  blind  a^'oiiy  did  not  note  this  change  of  persons. 
He  only  pointed  wlieie  his  assailant  had  been,  and  thereby 
denounced  his  own  wife. 

To  Col.  Renjamin  Kills,  ;i  Chaitanoojra  lawyer,  is  due 
the  greatest  credit  in  obtaining  and  verifying  this  confes- 
sion before  the  convict  expired. 

Margaret  Holmes  did  not  live  to  .see  her  vindication,  but 

13  lu;! 


SELM.V  TME  SOVKANO 


! 


it  comes  as  a  ble-s.  liig  to  her  sun,  who  fxiircsse.s  himself 
as  eternally  iiulebted  to  Colonel  Ellis  for  being  the  means 
of  clear  in  i,'  his  mother's  iiiime. 

As  SeluKi  grasped  the  full  meaning  of  this  wou- 
drous  news,  she  was  jjossessed  with  a  glorious, 
thrilling  joy.  All  the  old  love  and  pent-up  emo- 
tions arose  to  assert  themselves,  and  her  heart 
throbbed  wildl}'  with  a  stipreme  gladness. 

Then  tears  lilled  her  eyes  as  a  sense  of  the  in- 
justiee  under  which  Arthur  had  sntfered,  and 
which,  too,  had  caused  her  own  sorrow,  welled  up 
within  her. 

She  was  resolved  that  nothing  should  now  stand 
in  the  way  of  their  happhiess.  She  would  write 
Arthur  at  once,  and  explain  everything:  how  she 
had  been  forced  to  leave  him,  against  all  the 
promptings  of  her  own  heart,  just  because  of  his 
mother's  history. 

But  it  was  easier  to  plan  such  a  letter  than  to 
write  it.  In  black  and  white  it  looke<i  cold- 
blooded to  connect,  however  distantly,  thoughts  of 
love  and  thoughts  of  murder.  She  wrote  and  tore 
up  half  a  dozen  letters  without  sendhig  one.  The 
natural  outcome  of  all  this  perturbation  was  the 
thought  of  going  home  herself.  Her  term  of  study 
was  nearly  over.  Why  not  go  now  and  surprise 
not  only  Arthur,  but  every  one? 

Selma  decided  to  do  this.  She  packed  her  trunk 
that  day,  and  started  home  the  next. 

l»4 


sO 


SELMA  THE  SOPRANO 


icpresses  himself 
beiug  the  uieaim 

ig  of  this  wou- 
th  a  glorious, 
I  pent-up  emo- 
ind  her  heart 
hiess. 

ease  of  the  in- 
suffered,    and 
row,  welled  up 

)uld  now  stand 
le  would  write 
hing:  how  she 
gainst  all  the 
because  of  his 

I  letter  than  to 
t  looked  cold- 
ly, thoughts  of 
wrote  and  tore 
ling  one.  The 
■batioii  was  the 
ir  term  of  study 
w  and  surprise 

acked  her  trunk 
t. 


The  journey  seemed  long,  but  ever  brighter  as 
she  neured  the  state  and  station  where  Arthur 
dwelt.  Her  heart  was  boiuiding  with  joy  as  she 
planui'd  their  meeting  and  words  of  greeting. 

Knoxville  was  reached  at  last.  Selma  attended 
to  her  baggage,  and  Ihen  started  to  walk  from  the 
depot  home.  She  tried  to  be  wise  and  patient. 
After  seeing  her  mother  she  would  send  for  Arthur, 
and  he  should  call  that  evening.     Thus  she  planned. 

But  s'lddonly  it  occurred  to  her  that  her  way 
went  past  his  office.  She  was  i.i  front  of  the 
building  now.  How  easy  it  would  be  to  go  iu  and 
see  hinv  at  once!  Selnui  looked  at  her  watch  and 
thought  of  the  long  liours  she  would  otherwise 
have  to  wait.  She  was  conscious  also  of  appearing 
well  in  her  new  hat  and  traveling  gown.  So  with- 
out further  thought  she  entered. 

An  olHco  boy  came  forward  to  ask  her  name  and 
whom  she  wished  to  see.  Ht  caught  her  answer 
indistinctly,  for  the  i)rinting-pre,:Hes  were  going  at 
full  force  and  made  talking  difficult;  but  he  un- 
derstood that  she  wished  to  see  Mr.  Holmes.  After 
a  few  moments'  absence  he  returned  with  the  re- 
quest that  she  follow  him. 

He  led  her  to  the  door  of  one  of  the  various 
offices  and  bade  her  enter. 

She  was  about  to  do  so  when  her  way  was  in- 
tercepted by  another  young  lady  who  was  leaving 

the  office. 

195 


ll 


i 


SELMA  THE  SOl'HANO 

Tho  stranger  wus  well  dressed  ;uul  tine-looking, 
and  especially  remaikal.le  for  her  boautilul  tluxen 
hair.  The  lady  was  plainly  aware  of  this  distm- 
guishing  point  of  beauty,  for  she  wore  at  the  side 
,  r  lu'r  throat,  nestled  close  to  hor  yellow  hair,  a 
big  buneh  of  buttercups.  Sehna  had  oiii-ortunity 
to  observe  all  this,  for  llie  two  wonuni  stood  faciu- 
each  other  a  moment  in  that  awkward  uncertainty 
about  the  right  of  way.  Then  they  both  smiled, 
and  finally  passed  each  other  to  the  right. 

Selma  entered  the  olliee  and  tlie  boy  closed  the 
door  behind  her.  Mr.  Holmes  was  looking  over 
some  papers  on  his  desk,  but  ho  presently  glanced 
around,  and  then  jumi"d  up  with  astonishment. 
"Sehna!  ytm  here!"  He  was  surprised  into 
speaking  her  name  with  some  of  the  old  tender- 
ness. I'.ut  he  .piickly  recalled  himself.  "The 
boy  made  a  mistake  in  the  name.  1  thought  it 
was  one  of  our  contributors." 

He  spoke  rapidly,  an.l  seemed  somewhat  un- 
nerved. 

Selma   came   forward    with    be;;ming   face   and 

soulful  eyes. 

'■  1  have  come  all  the  way  from  New  York, 
Arthur,  to-see  you!"  It  was  not  exactly  what 
she  ha<l  planned  to  say,  l>ut  it  told  a  good  deal.^ 

Ml.  Holmes  now  spiike  more  reservedly.  '•  That 
is  kind  of  you,  I  am  sure;  but  I  am  greatly  sur- 
prised.     ^'ou  nuist  admit  that  I  have  had  little 

1:^0 


() 

I  tiiit'-lookiiig, 
iiutil'ul  tliixeu 
[A  tliis  (listin- 
)re  at  the  side 
yellow  liair,  a 
(1  oiiporluiiity 

II  stood  laciii;T 
I'd  iiiiceitainly 
,•  both  .smiled, 
right. 

boy  closed  the 
s  looking  over 
jsently  glanced 
astonishment, 
surprised  into 
he  old  tender- 
liniself.  "The 
1  thought  it 

somewhat  un- 

ming   face   and 

m\  New  York, 
it  exactly  what 
a  good  deal, 
rvedly.  "  That 
am  greatly  sur- 
have  had  little 


SEL:srA  THE  SOPRANO 

reason  to  suppose  ymi  would  ever  nuike  so  long  a 
journey  on  my  account." 

"Oh,  Arthur-  do  not  spt^ak  so  coldly!  Vou 
don't  mulcrstaiul.      Wait  till  1  have  tohl  you  all." 

Her  heart  was  beating  so  fast  that  she  was  al- 
most breathless  and  could  not  go  on;  so  Arthur 
again  spoke— not  unkindly,  hut  sadly. 

"When  I  once,  long  ago,  did  commence  to  ad- 
dress you  with  a  different  tone  aiul  nu-aning,  you 
silenced  me,  Selma,  in  a  letter  1  have  never  for- 
gotten.     Why  are  you  now  surprised?  " 

"  It  is  not  my  fault  that  I  sent  you  that  letter." 
Selnui's  tones  were  impressive.  "^lama  dictated 
every  word.  Do  you  hear  this,  Arthur'.'  Do  you 
take  it  all  hi?  You  don't  know  what  1  have  gone 
through!"  She  gave  him  no  chance  to  interrupt. 
"If  you  did,  you  would  pity  me  so!  Have  you 
ever  suffered  -.Vrthur?  Do  you  know  what  it  is 
to  work,  and  walk  and  talk  with  always  one 
thought  in  your  mind,  one  pain  in  your  heart;  al- 
ways longing  for  what  might  have  been,  aiul  re- 
gretting what  you've  done?" 

Selma  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  continued : 
"Mama  would  not  hear  of   our  being  engaged 

because  -you  know " 

Arthur  liuished  the  sentence  for  hev.  "  Yes,  I 
know;  because  of  my— mother."  Ho  whiced  vis- 
ibly under  this  memory. 

Selma  hurried  on  witli  her  words.     "  I5ut  now 
197 


SELMA  THE  SOVRAN*) 


that  is  all  I'learecl  aw.-iy— I  vead  alx.ut  it  in  the 
paper;  and  I  was  so  happy  I  started  huiue  by  the 
first  train.      And,  Arthur,  here  1  am!  " 

She  laughed  softly,  almost  hysterically,  with  the 
last   glad   words,   and    impulsively    exteudeil    her 

hand. 

Then  a  great  change  came  over  Helma,  for  Arthur 
did  not  respond  as  she  exi)e('ted. 

Ho  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then  spoke  delib- 
erately ; 

"  1  am  sorry,  Sehna,  you  liave  nut  yet  heard  that 

I  &m—i'n;/<"ji'(l .' " 

Helnui  stood  motionless,  hardly  comprehending 
the  full  meaning  of  this  statement.  She  seemed 
as  "-^e  who  tries  to  think  but  can  not. 

"Engaged?"  she  repeated  quietly.  "When? 
how?  to  whom?" 

"To  Miss  Marion  Ellis.  She  was  here  a  few 
minutes  ago— you  probably  met  her  at  the  door." 
Arthur  also  spoke  quietly,  but  it  was  a  terrible 
moment  for  both. 

"  Miss  Ellis?  "  repeated  Selma  slowly.  "  Is  she 
the  daughter  of  that  lawyer.  Colonel  Ellis,  who 
helped  you?" 

Arthur  nodded  his  head  affirmatively. 

"  And  she  is  the  one  who  passed  me  at  the  door?  " 

Selma's  thoughts  were  conung  faster  now.     "  And 

you  have  asked  her  to  marry  ynu?"     A.  sudden 

reckless   despair  came   over    Seh -a.     "No,   no,  I 

108 


r 


it  it  iu  the 
loine  by  the 

Uy,  with  the 
xteiideil    her 

\,  for  Arthur 

spoke  delib- 

et  heard  that 

mprehendiug 
She  seemed 

y.     "  When? 

s  here  a  few 
at  the  door." 
as  a  terrible 

vly.  "  Is  she 
el  Ellis,    who 

at  the  door?  " 

•  now.     "  And 

' "     A  sudden 

"No,   no,  1 


s 


f 


SELMA  THE  SOPRANO 

don't  believe  il!     You  don't  mean  it,  Artlmr--do 

you?" 

The  rumbling  machinery  without  kept  up  a 
strange  accompaniment  to  this  climax.  Arthur 
hesitated,  but  then  replied  with  a  calmness  he  did 

not  feel : 

••  It  is  all  true— qinte  true— and  therefore  this  in- 
terview can  only  be  painful  to  both  of  us.  Let 
me  entreat  you,  Selma,  for  my  sake  and  your  own, 

to  end  it."' 

But  Selma  was  not  to  be  reasoned  with  just  yet. 
"No,  not  now— don't  send  me  away  like  that— it 
is  too  terrible!  "  Her  tones  had  vibrated  with  in- 
tensity, but  now  they  became  tremblingly  beseech- 
ing. "  Arthur,  does  she  really  love  you  as  1  do? 
And  does  she  sing  as  I  do?  You  used  to  love  my 
voice,  Arthur— don't  you  remember?" 

Remember,  indeed !  The  voice  that  still  sang  in 
his  dreams!  T.ut  only  the  pallor  of  his  face  re- 
vealed the  struggle  within  him  as  he  stepped  past 
iier  and  said : 

"  I  remember  all,  Selma,  and  I  remember  too 
that  I  have  asked  Miss  Ellis  to  be  my  wife,  and 
that  I  respect  her  accordingly.  Since  you  will  not 
leave  me,  let  me  be  the  one  to  go." 

Before  he  had  reached  the  door  Selma  was 
there,  barring  his  way.     Her  voice  was  tremulous 

and  husky.  ^^ 

"No,  no— I  will  go,  right  now;  T  promise  you. 

199 


SELMA  THE  SOPRANO 


There  was  a  inomont'3  silence,  and  still  she 
stoutl  there,  supporting  herself  against  'he  door. 
Then  she  seemed  to  gather  her  strength  and 
th(night3  preparatory  to  leaving.  She  passeil  her 
hand  over  her  brow,  and  as  she  spoke  her  tones 
were  more  calm : 

"It  is  over.  I>on't  feel  too  badly  about  me, 
Arthur,  for  the  pain  is  no  worse  than  before.  .  .  . 
There— I  am  going." 

She  hesitatetl  again,  and  then  contimied  vapidly : 

"  I  promise  you  not  to  utter  another  word,  or  to 
so  much  as  touch  your  hand  for  good-by;  but 
there  is  one  thing  I  would  ask.  It  is  only  that 
you  look  at  me  just  once  k!n(l/i/—a.9  you  used  to 
do.      Even  s/(e  could  not  object  to  this." 

This  request  overcame  all  his  will  power.  The 
old  sweet  tenderness  that  she  had  so  loved  sud- 
denly illumined  his  saddened  face  as  he  impetu- 
ously clasped  both  her  hands  in  his  and  lingeringly 
gazed  upon  her. 

True  to  her  promise,  she  made  no  motion  or  sign 
of  entreaty— not  even  when  Arthur  fervently  ex- 
claimed, in  low,  broken  tones; 

"Selma,  we  have  both  suffered— haven't  we!" 
The  blood  rushed  to  his  face  as  he  spoke.  He 
looked  in  her  eyes  once  again,  lovingly,  loJigingly, 
and  then  with  sudden  effort  he  whispered,  "  Good- 
by  !  "-and  left  her  alone  in  the  room. 

Selma  did  not  weep  or  faint.      She  just  stood 
200 


flAXO 

,ce,  and  still  she 
against  'he  door, 
ler  strength  and 
She  passed  her 
le  spoke  her  tunes 

)  badly  about  me, 
than  before.   .   .  . 

continued  vapidly : 
mother  word,  or  to 
for  good-by ;  but 
..  It  is  only  that 
Uj — as  you  used  to 
to  this." 

1  will  power.      The 

had  so  loved  sud- 

t'ace  as  he  inipetu- 

his  and  lingeringly 

B  no  motion  or  sign 
I'thur  fervently  ex- 
red — haven't  we!  " 
as  he  spoke.  He 
,ovingly,  longingly, 
whispered,  "  Good- 
i  room, 
t.     She  just  stood 


SELMA  THE  SOPRANO 

there  motionless,  Iut  hiinds  clasped  tightly  to- 
geth»>r.  I'rosently  she  became  conscious  of  an  im- 
pressive silence.  The  machinery  had  stopped;  it 
was  the  hour  of  noon.  To  Selma  it  seemed  as 
tho  not  only  the  machinery,  but  her  own  heart  had 
ceased  to  throb;  all  life,  the  world  and  the  uni- 
verse, seemed  siuhlenly  jostled  o>it  of  position. 

She  was  leokiug  about  her,  and  thinking;  "I 
must  follow  again  the  routine  of  life.  T  shall  soon 
f  pen  this  door  and  walk  out.  If  I  nieet  any  one, 
I  nmst  say  '  Oood-morning! '  " 

She  closed  her  eyes  from  very  weariness  at  the 
thought.  On  reopening  them  she  happened  to  see 
a  small  photograph  on  Arthur's  desk.  It  was  a 
woman's  picture;  and  as  Selma  crossed  the  room 
for  a  closer  view  her  surmise  was  confirmed:  it 
was  an  admirable  and  beautiful  likeness  of  Miss 

Ellis. 

Selma  took  the  picture  in  her  hands  and  lookea 
long  at  the  features.  There  was  a  peculiar  droop 
to  the  eyelids  that  gave  an  expression  of  languor, 
and  was  very  becomuig  to  Miss  Ellis.  Yes,  she 
was  beautiful!  And  he  had  gone  to  her  now— he 
had  chosen  between  them !  Her  own  picture  used 
to  be  on  this  desk.  Ho  had  often  said  it  inspired 
him  at  his  work.  Now  it  was  this  new  one  that 
inspired  him! 

A  boundless  envy  filled  for  the  moment  Selma's 
usually  gentle  nature,  and  bitter  thoughts  floated 

201 


SELMA  THE  S(^?RANO 

tlirougli  her  bniiii  that  frightened  her  ;is  they 
j)ass('(l.  In  :i  very  frenzy  of  je;ilo\is  rage  she  tore 
the  jiicture  a.sunch'r  tore  it  into  fragmen'uS,  as  tho 
unahlo  to  (h'stroy  it  enough. 

T5ien  suddenly  all  this  nervous  energy  left  her, 
and  sinking  into  a  chair,  she  moaned  aloud; 
"What  am  1  doing,  what  am  I  thinking!  It  is 
only  becauye  I  am  so  wretched,  so  unhappy!  " 

Her  grief  seemed  indeed  like  something  pressing 
down  upon  her.  She  bowed  her  face  in  her  hands, 
and  tried  to  ctmtrol  and  collect  her  thoughts. 

"It  was  his  duty  to  go;  ho  is  engaged  to  her; 
and  [  must  bear  it.     J  must  !     I. must!" 


As  the  weeks  went  by,  Selma  resumed  her  old 
life  of  work  and  study,  and  fought  her  heart's 
battle  as  best  she  could. 

Three  months  later,  Arthur  Holmes  and  Marion 
Hllis  were  mar'ied. 

CHArTEi;   I  IT. 

Work  always  brings  its  sure  but  slow  reward, 
and  so  witli  Selma  each  ye:u'  found  her  more  ad- 
vanced in  her  art  and  more  widely  recognized  as  an 
artist. 

Her  first  season  in  public  was  not  discouraging, 
but  that  is  all.  The  following  year  she  secured  a 
church  engagement.  But  the  next  winter  we  find 
her  traveling  with  a  celebrated  concert  troupe  that 

202 


0 

her    lis    Uiey 

vagt'  sho  tore 

;iiic'iiuH,  as  tho 

lergy  left  her, 
oaneil  ahmd ; 
iikuig!  It  is 
ihappy!" 
thing  pressing 
'  in  her  hands, 
lioughts. 
igaged  to  her; 
st!" 

iunied  her  old 
it  her  heart's 

68  and  Marion 


;  slow  reward, 

her  more  ad- 

coguized  as  an 

:  discouraging, 

she  secured  a 

winter  we  find 

ert  troupe  that 


SKLMA  THE  SOI'RANO 

ranked  lier  next  in  importunce  to  tlie  star.  The 
management  were  so  well  satisfied  that  they  re- 
engaged her  the  following  season. 

Five  years  had  passed  since  the  morning  of  t  hat 
last  interview  with  the  only  man  siio  had  ever 
loved.  She  hail  not  seen  him  or  spoken  his  nami^ 
from  that  day  till  now,  but  this  was  no  sign  of 
forgetfulness.  With  some  natures  the  greater 
the  impression  received,  the  leas  is  the  expression 
given.  Selma  Maiviu  hail  admirers  many,  hut 
lovers  none,  tho  slio  could  sing  a  ballad  in  sueli  a 
way  as  to  make  each  individual  listener  think  she 
was  singing  to  him  alone. 

It  was  tlie  L'oth  of  September.  They  had  closed, 
the  night  before,  a  series  of  three,  performances  in 
St.  Louis,  and  were  to  ajjpear  in  Memphis  on  the 
I'Cth. 

The  rest  of  the  company  had  gene  on,  but  Selma 
remained  behind  to  arrange  some  personal  matters, 
expecting  to  take  tho  night  train  for  ^Memphis. 

Selma  never  forgot  that  2r)th  of  September. 
Everything  went  wrong  from  morniiig  till  night 
with  no  let-up.  It  would  be  needless  to  relate  all 
the  mishaps  that  managed  to  occur  during  that  one 
day.  At  the  last  moment  there  came  an  irritating 
misunderstanding  with  the  hotel  clerk,  who  was 
not  aware  that  her  manager  would  pay  for  this 
extra  day.  She  was  obliged  to  show  him  her  con- 
tract and  fully  explain  matters. 

203 


SKLMA  'I'HK  SOPRANO 


Rpiili/iiig  till'  nccessily  of  liasto,  shii  sen!  her 
baggage  on  and  hail  it  cliPcUcd.  I'ut  when  sho  at 
last  rcaclipd  tlie  station  tin*  train  was  just  going 
ont  (if  oni'  end  as  slio  entcifd  tln'  otlit»r. 

"  A  wt'll-idinidfd  day  of  niishaiis,"  lliought  Sul- 
nia,  "  witli  a  lino  cipscpndo  at  tho  end!  " 

Hero  alio  was  aloiio  in  St,.  T;Oiiis  wliilo  all  lior 
pffecta  \V(M'e  traveling  to  Menipliis.  Tlie  liist  and 
only  thing  to  do  was  to  make  iu'iniries  atiout  tlie 
next  train.  The  result  wu3  not  satisfactory:  no 
other  train  wonld  leave  until  the  next  morning. 

She  was  advised  to  take  the  niglit  Iwiat;  jind  as 
this  seemed  the  best  plan,  .she  adujited  il.  Half 
an  hour  later  Selma  was  aboard  the  Dulhi  J'dn/in, 
which  left  its  dock  promptly  on  time. 

She  went  directly  to  luT  stateroom;  but  having 
no  toilet  .  onveiiiences,  she  did  nut  undress,  but  lay 
down  to  sl(  <^p  as  she  was. 

A  street  costume  is  not  conducive  to  childlike 
slumber,  neither  is  the  thumping  of  a  boat's  en- 
gine. With  the  two  combined  it  is  not  strange 
that  Selma  tossed  and  turned  and  dreamed  great 
dreams  in  a  minute  whenever  she  closed  her  eyes. 
Toward  three  o'clock  she  aw^oke.  The  close  atmos- 
phere of  the  stateroom  was  stifling. 

She  threw  on  her  cloak  and  Walked  down  the  hot 
corridor  to  the  saloon.  Here  it  was  not  nuich  bet- 
ter, for  the  lights  were  burning  low  and  emitting 
an  unpleasant  odor  of  coal-oil. 

204 


;o 


SKLMA  TIIK  SOI'HAN'O 


she  sen!  her 
it  wlitii  kIih  at 
;iH  just  going 
it»r. 

'  tliouK'lit  Si'l- 
d!" 
wliilo  all  lior 

Till'  lirst  ami 
iiics  atiout.  tlie 
tisfactory :  no 
t  niorninR. 
;  boat;  and  as 
it.'d  it.  Half 
Ihilhj   J'liri/iti, 

u ;  but  liaving 
idress,  but  lay 

e  to  cliildlike 
'  a  boat's  en- 
is  not  strange 
Ireanied  great 
rised  her  eyes. 
le  close  atiuos- 

1  down  the  hot 
not  much  bet- 
■  and  emitting 


Hclma  w.'iit  In  tin-  |4;nig\vay,  and  there  lireathi-d 
freer,  tor  the  door  aliove  was  open.  iMdlowing  her 
impulse,  she  mounted  theHtairsaml  .stepped  outside. 
The  scent!  about  her  was  a  visien  df  pence.  A 
veil  of  mellow  mooidig!;!,  eiiwrapiicd  tlio  sleepin,i,' 
woiM.  The  eountry  mmid  was  level,  and  one 
could  sei^  afar  white  llelds  and  Mads  and  woods, 
and  bet, ween  them  all  lay  tho  mighty  river,  silent 
and  d;iik  and  deep.  Sel  ma  gazed  long,  audthoiight 
of  the  song,  "  He  givetli  His  beh)ved  sleep."  She 
tnrned  to  descend-  but  at  this  moment  there  was  a 
great  cracking,  creaking,  screeching  report.  Tho 
whole  universe  seemed  to  turn  over  the  stars  aud 
moon  descended,  the  river  Hew  iipward-  and  all 
things  bulled,  whirled,  rushed,  ami  splashed. 

Soinids  of  nuiny  voices  sonn  (illeil  the  air  swear- 
words and  prayer-words,  moans  and  groans,  while 
over  all  hung  a  pall  of  darkness.  The  moon  had 
hidden  behind  a  cloud,  as  tho  fearing  to  look  on 
the  scene  *)f  teiTor-  the  river  of  Death  and  night 
of  Eternity. 

Selmahad  been  thrown  against  the  ship's  railing 
and  was  dazed  for  a  moment  by  the  shock.  But 
presently  sh<^  was  conscious  of  a  plunge  into  dark- 
ness, and  then  of  a  cold  flood  that  submerged  her. 
She  was  sinking,  floating,  drowning,  rising— she 
knew  not  what.  IJut  her  strength  did  not  leave, 
nor  her  hope  of  life,  and  she  hardly  rcal.zi'd  the 
strange  chance  that  threw  in  her  path  a  floating 

205 


SIM. MA    I'lll':  Sol'UANn 


(ibjtM'l,  wliicli  .''lir  .sin'fi'cili'il  ill  .^i;i.H|iiii.;  aiiil  iliiiili- 
ill},'  ii|>uii. 

Il,  wa-i  ii't  llii'  pnivi'ibial  ludkcn   s|iar.  luii    oiui 

I'f    till'     Imil,'      'lrri<    l)i'll('llfs,      Wli'licju'll      lodJM'      lllld 

thrown  owr  by  flu-  rxpid- imi. 

Seliiia  coiilil  iiiii  Hi'i-  til''  full  (lutlines  i.f  licr 
Htraii(,'i!  jii'ostu'vor;  sho  cnulil  diily  fi  t>l  lur  u.iy 
aIniiL,.  Wliilo  rciirliiiiij  out  in  tin-  watt'i'  lu-r 
liaiid  ^uiMctily  tuufln'il  .sdnn'tliiiii,'  tliat  si'iit;  a 
cliill  ti)  in  1-  lii'iut.  It-  was  aiintlur  //'///(//— a 
Sdft,  small  liaii'l  tliat  imiiit'.  .atily  chitclu'il  her 
own. 

"•Ill,  li.lp  iiu'I  Ho  lirlp  nu'I"  jilradi'il  a  faint 
voii  (^  iii'iir  liy.  At  this  nioineiit  llit!  full  inoon 
saili'd  forth  from  its  oloiul-bank.s  iiiul  hIioiio  iipoii 
the  woman's  fact.'    n  fnrc  thnt  Sih.iit  )yi>;/iii:.i'i/ .' 

Wo  can  not  iinravol  the  laws  that  bring  about 
thcso  coinciilfiii'es  in  life — thcso  encounters  that 
seom  stran;;cr  than  llctidii  and  too  incredible  for 
belief.  Call  it  f.'it'  or  call  it;  chance,  we  only 
know  that  this  jiarticular  event  was  destineil  to 
affect  Selnia's  win  do  life. 

On  seein;-,'  the  face  she  had  };iven  a  smlden  start, 
thereby  drawin;,'  loose  from  the  clutching  liand. 
Then  she  recalled  herself  and  reached  out  again; 
but  the  treacherous  waters  had  ab.eady  widened 
the  distance.  She  CouM  only  grasp  a  few  strands 
of  lloating  hair ;  but  they  slii)i>t  d  through  her  lingers 
like    damp    snakes— shimmering,    coiling,   golden 

200 


i 


liii.q;  aii>l  tlniili- 

^|i;ir,  liiit    iiiio 
led     1(1(1^.1'    aiiil 

III  linos  i.f  licr 
feel  111  r  way 
till'  watt'i'  luT 
,'  lliat  sent  a 
her  1(11  ml!  a 
■   chitclu'il    lior 

ili'adi'il  a  faint 
'Jh!  full  iiiooii 
III  slioiio  upon 
11  ri:ci>i/ii  ir.i'il ! 
lat  hrinj,'  about 
ncounteis  that. 
inciLHlible  for 
auce,  wo  only 
as  Justiueil  to 

a  sudden  start, 
utcliing  liand. 
lied  out  again; 
leady  widened 
'  a  few  Ktiamls 
)ugh  luT  fingers 
joihiig,   golden 


T  h«  monnhght  fell  on  white  hps  and 
Hrooping  eye>. 


SELMA  THE  SOPRANO 


snakes :  for  tliat  liair  was  yellow— yellow  and  soft 
as  is  seldom  seen. 

Still  clinf^ing  to  the  unsteady  bench,  Selnia 
watched  with  dilated  eyes  the  figure  carried  be- 
yond reach.  It  sank  down,  and  still  she  watched 
the  spot,  staring  as  tho  she  could  fathom  the  dark 
waters  and  see  the  departing  soul.  Once  again 
that  face  arose  to  view,  and  the  moonlight  fell 
upon  white  lips  and  drtwping  eyes  surrounded  by  a 
halo  of  gold— the  face  that  Sehna  could  never  for- 
get, tho  she  had  seen  it  but  once  five  years  ago — 
the  irife  of  Art  hill'  Holmes! 

The  waves  seemed  to  caress  the  body  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then,  like  a  hungry  ogre,  the  river  swal- 
lowed its  prey. 

Selma  continued  to  giize  at  the  silver-tipped 
waves;  but  never  again  did  sun  or  moon  shine 
upon  that  face. 

In  the  mean  time  Selma's  bench  had  struck  the 
river's  current  and  was  drifting  rapidly,  l^ut  slie 
paid  no  heed  to  this,  nor  did  she  feel  the  chill  of 
the  water.  She  felt  only  the  chill  of  horror  at  the 
vision  constantly  before  lier. 

"  I  might  have  saved  her  had  I  not  withdrawn 
my  hand  "—this  was  the  awful  thought  that  surged 
in  her  brain. 

She  was  oblivious  to  the  fact  that  she  still  had 
herself  to  save. 

She  was  indeed  in  a  state  of  semi-consciousness 
207 


SELMA  THE  SOPRANO 

for  some  time.  Half  lying,  half  clinging  upo-i  her 
wooden  support,  she  never  knew  how  the  time 
passed,  or  how  it  happened  that  iu  the  early  morn- 
ing hours  she  was  found  by  some  fishermen  lodged 
against  the  posts  of  a  little  i)ier. 

They  took  her  to  a  near  country  house,  where 
the  good  wife  dried  her  clothes  and  revived  her 
with  various  teas  ami  a  brisk  rubbing.  Being  of  a 
naturally  strong  constitution,  the  physical  ills  did 
not  affect  her  so  much  as  the  mental  pain.  Whea 
questioned  about  the  accident  she  answered 
evasively;  not  from  any  motive,  but  because 
the  death  of  Arthur  Holmes's  wife  had  al- 
most obliterated  her  memory  of  the  previous 
panic. 

Selma  boarded  a  passing  boat  that  same  after- 
noon and  s\icceeded  in  reaching  Memphis  in  time 
foi  the  night's  concert.  She  told  of  a  delay  oa 
the  road,  but  gave  no  details,  and  never  a  mortal 
suspected  that  she  had  taken  passage  on  the  IMhj 
Varden,  whose  terrible  fate  was  the  topic  of  the 
day.  On  reading  over  the  death-list,  Selma  found, 
as  she  had  -  ted,  the  name  that  was  already 
seared  on  hv.  -"  Mrs.  Marion  Holmes."     But 

that  was  all  ^tlr.  Holmes's  name  was  among 
neither  the  saved  nor  the  drowned.  His  wife  had 
been  traveling  alone.  Selma  did  not  wonder  about 
it,  nor  did  slie  read  any  more.  She  wished  to  for- 
get and  to  keep  unknown  the  fact  of  her  presence 

208 


0 


SELMA  THE  SOI'IIANO 


ging  npou  her 
low  the  time 
le  early  morn- 
lenneu  lodged 

house,  Avliere 
d  revived  her 
;.  Being  of  a 
lysioal  ills  did 

pain.  When 
she    answered 

but  because 
wife    had    al- 

the    previous 

it  same  after- 

luphis  in  time 

of  a  delay  on 

lever  a  mortal 

e  on  the  Dally 

e  topic  of  the 

,,  Selma  found, 

at  was  already 

lolmes."     But 

le  was  among 

His  wife  had 

t  wonder  about 

wished  to  for- 

f  her  presence 


in  tlio  awful  scene.  Fortunately  her  own  name 
was  not  upon  the  passenger-list. 

\Yith  Lurning  brow  and  beating  heart  Selma 
sang  lier  part  that  iii.ulit.  In  the  crowded  Iiall  ami 
the  bright  gas-lighb  -lia  courtesied  and  smiled,  l)iit 
in  the  long,  lone  n.iglit  she  was  crushed  and  dis- 
mayed by  haunting,  taunting  tho\ights. 

"I  envied  her  once — ^  and  now  she  is  dead  I 
She  wanted  to  live!  Slie  had  Imld  of  my  hand  - 
liut  I  drew  it  back  I  I  crui  feel  the  touch  yet  and  can 
hear  her  voice!     Oh,  it  is  awful-   it  will  kill  me!  " 

Selma  was  like  one  who  is  stricken  with  terror. 
She  covered  her  head  and  scarcely  breathed  for 
fear.  She  tried  to  think  of  other  things — to  recall 
a  strain  of  music  or  repeat  some  verse  of  a  poem. 
As  a  result  of  this  effort  there  rang  in  her  brain 
again  and  again  -liketlm  chorus  of  a  tragic  song-  • 
these  words  by  ."Mrs.  Wilcox: 

"I  IidUI  ii  trui.  that  tlimmlit.s  iiro  tliiims. 
Kiiilowfil  wilh  boilifs,  l)i'e:itli.  ami  wings; 
Anil  after  yon  have  i|iiil(?  fursjel 
(ii-  all  outLrruwii  .some  vanished  tliought, 
liaik  to  yoin-  iniml  to  mako  its  home 
A  (love  or  raven  it  will  come." 

Selma  tossed  ;uid  moaned  as  she  blamed  herself 
for  tliinking  wrong  thoughts  once,  long  ago,  when 
she  had  looked  on  that  picttire  of  a^^a^ion  Ellis. 

"The  raven  has  now  returticd  to  claw  and  gnaw 
at  my  soul!     I  feci  guilty ^ — so  guilty!  " 
14  ai)9 


SELMA  THE  SOl'RANO 

She  longed  for  the  day  to  sotitter  away  tliese  dire 
dreams  of  darkness.  Itut  with  the  first  glimpse 
of  light  her  frightened  fanry  recalled  still  anutlier 
verse,  long  forgotten,  about  the 

"Damp,  dull  (iiiwii  starini;  in  at  the  pane 
Like  a  iliin.  ilrowiied  face  witli  oozy  eyes  !" 

Whereupon  Selma  saw  in  every  detail  Marion 
Holmes  asleep  in  the  river-bed.  "  She  can  never 
awake,"  thouglit  Selma,  "while  I,  it  seems,  can 
never  sleep!  " 

But  she  did  at  last  find  some  repose,  and  when 
she  awoke  in  the  full  daylight  the  perspective  of 
her  mental  vision  changed.  She  could  think  more 
rationally  of  her  experience.  She  had  never  in- 
tended any  one's  death;  and  furthermore  it  was  not 
only  possible,  but  probable,  that  the  frail  bench 
coul'l  not  have  upheld  two  people.  This  thought 
was  her  greatest  comfort.  Slie  would  repeat  it  to 
herself  over  and  over,  like  a  spell  to  ward  off 
frightful  memories. 

Other  scenes  and  other  songs  had  their  effect 
upon  Selma.  She  was  young,  successful,  and  very 
busy.  It  is  not  strange  that  after  ,-.  few  months 
her  memory  of  the  wreck  became  buried  deep  under 
the  tide  of  life  as  the  boat  under  river-waters. 
She  never  told  about  it,  nor  recalled  old  associa- 
tions. 


210 


iOPRANO 

jcatter  away  these  dire 
with  the  first  glimpse 
'  recalled  still  annther 
the 

g  in  at  till!  pane 
CO  witli  oozy  eyes  !" 

n  every  detail  Marion 
bed.  "  She  can  never 
while   I,  it  seems,  can 

ome  repose,  and  when 
ght  the  perspective  of 
She  could  think  more 
^  She  had  never  in- 
furthiMiuore  it  was  not 
>,,  that  the  frail  bench 
people.  This  thought 
S'ue  would  repeat  it  to 
:q  a   spell  to  ward  off 

songs  had  their  effect 
ig,  successful,  and  very 
at  after  ;\  few  mouths 
came  buried  deep  under 
:it  under  river-waters. 
:ir  recalled  old  associa- 


SELMA  THE  SOl'UANO 


CHAl'TF.l;,  IV. 

The  winter  and  the  summer  passed,  and  Selma 
was  becoming  famous. 

She  had  numerous  friends  among  tiio  ])rofes3ion, 
and  she  was  always  generous  with  lu"-  time  and 
talent.  This  season  a  certain  well-known  journal 
in  New  York  was  giving  a  series  of  charitable  con- 
certs at  Castle  <  iarden.  Scluui  was  suddenly  called 
upon  to  fill  a  friend's  place  at  one  of  these  con- 
certs. Shecou.stated  on  the  shuitest  notice,  barely 
having  time  to  dress  and  reach  the  auditorium. 

It  was  a  queer-looking  place  lor  a  concert;  the 
building  seemed  better  suited  for  a  circus.  I'^lags 
were  hung  upon  the  dinj.y  walls  and  palms  deco- 
rated the  rude  platform.  The  only  me;ius  of 
reaching  the  temporary  dre.ssing-rooui  was  by  a 
small  projecting  stairway  at  the  back  of  the  stage 
iu  full  view  of  the  audience. 

Fully  five  thousand  people  were  assembled  when 
Selma  was  directed  up  these  most  prominent  stairs. 
Having  accomplished  the  ascent  in  safety,  she  was 
received  at  the  top  landing  by  the  i)ress  represent- 
ative. "  1  believe  you  are  to  take  Madame  Dur- 
yea's  place?  " 

Selma  raised  her  eyes  in  startled  surprise.  They 
met  the  gaze  of  Arthur  Holmes,  whose  astonish- 
ment e(|ualed  her  own.     He  extended  his  hand, 

211 


SKF.MA  'I' UK  SUl'KAXO 


wliioli  trriiihlrtl  Mt   til.'   toiu'li  of  Seliuii's  nervous, 
cold  tinge  IS. 

Thus  V)efovefive  tliousand  jieciilo  they  met  again, 
and  they  bnth  roealled  that  last  interview.  He 
had  (it her  niemoiies,  and  sm  had  she;  but  they 
spoke  ni)  word  of  the  past. 

He  sliowed  her  to  the  liig,  liarn-like  dressing- 
room,  and  introduced  her  to  the  tenor  and  the  con- 
tralto of  the  evening. 

The  latter  was  trying  to  arrange  her  hair  and 
coniplexion  before  a  cracked  mirror  lieside  a  miser- 
able little  smoking  lantern,  the  only  illumination 
to  be  found. 

Th  '  concert  had  begun,  and  ^Slr.  Holmes  was 
busy  here,  there,  and  everywhere. 

The  'r '.ssing-rooin  was  a  j)erfect  bedlam,  for  the 
artists  »ere  '-trying"  their  voices,  violins,  and 
flutes  all  at  onet.  The  pianist  alone  bears  the  dis- 
tinction of  keeping  quiet  in  a  dressing-room. 

The  contralto  had  her  nuusio  on  her  lap  and  was 
humming  away  at  her  first  avia,  while  a  maid  was 
putting  on  her  slippers.  The  tirst  number  did  not 
get  an  encore,  so  the  contralto  had  to  be  luu.ied  off 
before  she  was  lialf  ready.  Sh.;  went  humming 
and  "  abem-iiig  "  all  thi;  w'ay  to  the  stage. 

When  she  returned,  all  hands— voices— flew  to- 
gether to  rehearse  the  "  Rigoletto"  quartet,  while 
the  pianist  and  violinist  were  in  front.  1  fuddled 
close  to  the  wretched  lamp,  these  singers  worked 

213 


RANG 

Seliuii's  nervous, 

\)\o  they  nu't  again, 
ist  intfMvit'w.  He 
i;ul   she;    Vml  they 

hiiru-liko  dressiiig- 
I  teuor  and  tin)  cou- 

rango  her  hair  and 
rrur  lioside  a  miser- 
e  only  illumination 

I    Mr.  Holmes  was 

ire. 

feet  bedlam,  for  the 

roices,   violins,   and 

alone  bears  the  dis- 

resKing-room. 

on  her  lap  and  was 
I,  wliile.  a  maid  was 
first  numl)er  did  not 
iad  to  be  liui/ied  off 
^h.i  wont  humming 
)  the  stage. 
Is — voices — flew  to- 
jtto ''  quartet,  while 

in  front.      Huddled 
iiese  singers  worked 


A   Strang.^  group. 


-A^-. 


L 


SKLMA    THE  SdlMlA^O 

hard.     Tho  tenor  beat  time  and  the  l)aritone  held 
the  uiusic. 

.lust  as  Selma  was  clinginj,' desju'iately  to  high 
"A"  and  tho  tenor  was  in  tlie  same  region,  Mr. 
Holmes  rushed  in  excitedly.  "  Vou  am  practising 
too  loud!"  he  exclaimed.  "They  can  hear  it  in 
front,  and  tiie  pianist  is  furious.  It's  all  right 
when  they  are  clapping,  but  you  must  subside 
between  times."  Jiut  that  (piartet  had  to  be  re- 
hearsed, so  they  commenced  again  more  softly. 

Mr.  Holmes  made  himself  useful  by  holding  the 
lantern  over  their  heads  in  front  of  the  music. 
They  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  and  formed 
a  strange  group — these  four  musicians  singing 
away  all  unconscious  of  the  humor  of  the  situa- 
tion. 

The  candle  cast  such  grotesque  shadows.  It 
threw  each  singer  in  a  different  curner;  but  nearer 
to  the  soprano  than  any  other  was  the  shadow  of 
Artluir  Holmes. 

Every  time  there  was  heard  any  applause  in 
front,  the  "  Rigoletto"  quartet  would  swell  out  to 
a  sudden  crescendo  which  lasted  with  the  applause, 
and  then  again  diminished. 

Artists  are  not  always  delighted  to  hear  another 
one  encored,  but  this  queev  quartet  just  laughed 
with  glee  when  they  heard  the  violinist  recalled, 
lor  it  gave  them  more  tijue  to  rehearse. 

They  hastened  over  the  last  page,  and  then  Sel- 
213 


I 


=mmm 


HKLMA  TIIK  SOPRANO 

ma  had  to  get  ready  f(tr  lun-  solo,  whirh  was  the 
next  nuniher. 

Slip  smoothed  every  wrinkli'  from  her  i^loves, 
bestowed  a  tiiial  j.at  to  her  huir,  and  then,  at  the 
door  of  the  drosshig-rooni,  unfastened  the  fluffy 
cai.c  that  slu  ahvays  wore  till  the  last  moment. 
Mr.  Holmes  helped  her  to  remove  it.  As  he  stood 
for  a  moment  leaninK'  "ver  her  shoulder,  both  heard 
the  same  sound  aii.l  had  tlio  suime  thou^dit,— the 
violinist  was  giving  as  an  eniorc  that  sensuous  nud- 
ody  of  the  Carmen,  "  llabenera,"— the  song  Selma 
had  sung  at  their  tirst  meeting. 

"I  have  heard  it  before,"  murmured  INIr. 
Holmes.     "  Do  //  -«  remember?  " 

Ills  voice  w.is  so  near  and  so  ih'di-.'  It  was 
"Arthur"  ones  again— her  first  an  1  only  love! 

She  remembered  only  what  he  wished  her  to  re- 
member, and  forgot  for  the  moment  every  bitter 
association  that  melody  jnight  have  recalled. 

"It  was  years  ago,"  he  continued  softly,  "but 
it  seems  like  yesterday.  First  the  'Habenera,' 
then  the  '  Ave  Maria,'  and  then  "—his  voice  sank 
lower— "and  then  '  Ich  liebe  Dich  '  -Selma!  " 

Their  hands  clasped  for  a  moment  under  the 
cape;  but  then  she  hastened  away  and  stepped  be- 
fore the  audience  with  flushed  cheeks  and  spark- 
ling eyes,  and  her  heart  beating  faster  than  it  ever 
did  from  stage- fright. 

Selma  sang  her  aria  wdl.     There  was  sponta- 
214 


VNO 

I,  wliii'h  was  the 

'rom  her  (gloves, 
i\ii(l  then,  at  the 
stemnl  the  fluffy 
lie  hiHt  iiHiiiiont. 
it.  As  he  stood 
iiUlcr,  both  lioard 
lie  tliou^lit,— the 
liatseiisiiDua  inel- 
— the  stiiig  Sehaa 

murmured    INIr. 

<)  ih'ar!     It  was 
,11.1  only  love! 

wislu'd  her  to  re- 
ineiit  every  bitter 
ve  recalled, 
aued  softly,  "but 

the  '  Habenera, ' 
" — his  voice  sank 
h'— Selma!" 
lonient  under  the 
y  and  stepped  be- 
heeks  and  spark- 
taster  than  it  ever 

'here  was  sponta- 


SELMA  TllK  Sol'h'ANO 

neons  applause,  and  she  came  out  and  bowed.  Slio 
was  called  out  a^'aiii,  and  tliis  time  she  sat  down  to 
the  piano. 

Helma  never  planned  her  encores;  better  to  be 
diaconcertoil  with  an  encore  than  diHRi)poiiited 
without  one,  was  her  maxim. 

Hut  this  timo  she  hesitated  not  a  moment  in  her 
selection,  ft  n-as  a  little  German  ballad  that  per- 
haps few  in  tl',0  audience  understooil;  Imt  the  ten- 
derness of  her  tones  was  iuimistakable;  and  there 
was  one  listener  behind  the  little  stage  door  who 
understood  every  word  and  a  great  deal  more. 

It  was  her  answer — "Ich  licbe  Dich!  " 

And  this  was  all  their  courting;  or  rather  it, 
was  the  coda  to  a  long  composition.  After  work- 
ing through  ninch  tempo  aijitato  the  original  theme 
had  been  resumed  at  last. 

Ihit  there  are  other  numbers  on  life's  pr'-^^ram  ; 
the  performance  is  by  no  means  ended. 

CHAPTER   V 

Thet  were  to  be  marrii  J.  Some  two  weeks  be- 
fore the  day,  Selma  went  with  Mr.  Holmes  to  visit 
his  little  daughter  Miriam,  of  whom  he  had  told 
her  much. 

This  was  the  occasion  Selma  had  planned  to  tell 
him  of  her  terrible  experience  on  the  Mississippi. 
Theie  had  been  oppor;  mities  before,  but  she  had 

215 


SKI, MA  'I'm;  Sol'ltANO 

let  tlifiii  pass.  Ho  hivd  told  oi  Itis  wile's  sad 
death:  how  slio  liad  started  South  for  her  health. 
Init  how  oil  tiic  trip  she  was  killed  in  an  accident. 
On  hearint,'  this.  Selnia  had  shuddered,  her  tongue 
seemed  to  cleavo  ti  her  jiiouth,  and  she  could  not 
sjicak. 

Hut  she  was  detorniined  nut  to  let  this  occasion 
go  Ity.  When  seeing  the  child  it  would  be  only 
natr.ral  to  speak  of  it.s  mother,  and  then  was  the 
time  tocoul'oos  that  Hhe  too  had  been  in  that  river- 
wreck. 

The  important  moment  had  arrived.  Selma  was 
waiting  m  the  parlor  of  his  aistar-in-law's  home 
wlule  Arthur  went  upstairs  for  the  child. 

Presently  there  was  a  sound  of  little  footsteps 
ill  the  hall,  and  then  the  parlor  door  was  pushed 
open  by  Miriam  herself,  who  had  come  on  ahead 
of  her  father. 

As  the  child  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  doorway, 
Selma  looked  and  turned  pale.  She  had  pi'epared 
heiself'for  a  resemblance,  but  not  this— not  this! 
The  child  was  its  mother  over  again:  the  same 
shaped  face,  same  drooping  blut!  eyes,  and,  to  crown 
all,  a  mass  of  flaxen  hair.    ' 

Selma  did  not  sjieak  at  first,  neither  did  the 
child,  ]\Iiiiam  was  shy,  and  only  sidled  over 
by  degrees  to  the  strange  lady.  Finally  Selma 
touched  Miriam's  hand  and  drew  her  nearer;  then 
the  little  one  l«»okid  up. 

210 


^U, 


'ki 


(A  NO 

»t"  Ills  wife's  Had 
th  for  her  health. 
'il  in  an  accident, 
dered,  her  ton^jue 
md  sho  could  not 

J  lot  this  0(!ca.sion 
it  would  bo  (inly 
and  then  was  the 
Jeeu  in  that  river- 

•ived.  Sclma  was 
tffr-in-law'.s  homo 
lie  child. 

i)f  little  footsteps 

door  was  pushed 

.d  come  on  ahead 

it  in  the  doorway, 
She  had  prepared 
)t  this — not  this! 
again :  the  same 
yes,  and,  to  crown 

,   neither  did  the 

oniy    sidled   over 

Finally    Selma 

■  her  nearer;  then 


HFAMX  THK  SolMtANO 

"  Ar.«  ym  '  dear  Helma  "/ " 

There  were  tears  in  Sehna's  eyes  as  she  em- 
braced the  child  warndy,  and  answered:  "  I  hoi.e 
you  will  always  call  mo  so." 

"  I'apa  often  talks  about  '  dear  Selma,'  "  contin- 
ued the  little  one. 

"  .VjuI  I  can  tell  you  he  often  talks  about '  dear 
Mniara,'  "  was  the  hearty  response. 

Mr.  Holmes  had  now  entered  the  room,  and  he 
ga/ed  in  silence  at  the  charming  picture  of  his 
golden-huired  baby  ensconced  on  Selma's  laj). 

She  looked  up  to  him  with  a  smile.  "  Vou  see 
Miriam  ami  I  are  already  good  friends." 

The  little  one  nou-  slipj.ed  down  from  her  perch 
and  tripped  out  of  the  room,  evidently  bent  on 
some  mission  of  her  own. 

When  she  was  gone,  Arthur  drew  Selma  to  his 
arms,  munnunng  fondly,  "This  is  the  happiest 
day  of  my  life."  * 

Selma  responded  to  his  caress,  but  she  was 
thinking  all  the  time  of  her  confession.  Now  was 
her  opportunity.  She  held  his  hands  in  hers  and 
tried  to  speak  -luite  bravely.  But  at  this  moment 
there  were  sounds  of  „  tumbling  catastrophe  in  the 
hall,  involving  vari(ms  exclamations  from  ;•  childish 
voice.  Mr.  Holmes  and  Selma  rushed  out  in  alarm 
but  were  soon  relieved  to  find  that  it  was  not  the 
cluld,  but  only  her  books,  that  had  fallen. 

She  was  bringing  an  armful  to  show  the  "new 
817 


SELMA  THI-:  SOPRANO 


luaiuii."  When  lii'i-  treasures  bail  been  resettled 
she  clung  to  Selma  as  they  reentered  the  parlor, 
and  again  climbed  n\Mm  ht.'r  lap. 

"Tapa  says  you  sing  music;  won't  you  sing 
this?"— and  :\liriaiu  pointed  out  a  b't  of  nursery 
jingle. 

Now,  strange  to  say,  after  years  of  practise ;  af- 
ter successfully  appearing  before  critical  audiences 
with  such  arias  as  the  Hamlet  "  :\Tad  Scene  "  and 
"Elsa's  Dieani,"  Selma  found  it  the  greatest  diffi- 
culty to  sing  with  steady  tones — 

"l)ickery-(lickery-(](xk. 
The  mouse  run  up  the  clock." 

But  ^Miriam  was  delighted,  and  wanted  to  hear 
the  song  again.  Then  she  turned  to  other  piecjs 
in  the  book,  and  laughed  with  joy  to  hear  Selma 
translate  the  mysterious  characters  into  sweet  mel- 
ody. But  none  delighted  her  more  than  '•  Dick- 
ery-dock,"  to  which  she  always  recurred. 

Sehua,  too,  was  becoming  interested  in  this 
nursery  nonsense,  and  the  storm  in  her  heart  sub- 
sided. 

They  were  a  happy  trio,  and  she  was  glad  things 
had  turned  out  so. 

Why  should  she  trouble  Arthur  with  sad  mem- 
ories to  no  purpose?  Would  it  not  bt'  selfish  on 
her  part  to  make  him  share  her  torturing  secret? 

Thus  are  we  driven  by  conscience  and  inclina- 
218 


LANO 

liad  been  resi'ued 
teretl  the  parlor, 

won't   you    sing 
t  a  b't  of  nursery 

rs  of  practise;  af- 
cntical  audiences 

'  ]\Iad  Scene  "  and 
the  greatest  difli- 


lock." 

id  wanted  to  hear 
id  to  other  piecjs 
joy  to  hear  Sehna 
!rs  into  sweet  mel- 
niore  than  '"  Dick- 
recurred. 

interested  iu  this 
L  in  her  heart  sub- 
he  was  glad  things 

ur  with  sad  mem- 
not  bt'  selfish  on 
torturing  secret? 
ience  and  iuclina- 


SELMA  THE  SOPRANO 

tion :  one  plies  the  whip,  while  the  other  jiuils  the 
reins. 

Selma  decided  to  let  the  "  dead  past  bury  its 
dead." 

Two  weeks  later,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Holmes  went  to 
Florida  on  their  wedding-trip,  and  they  remained 
there  the  entire  season. 

Solma  had  given  up  her  concert  work,  and  the 
old  life  seemed  so  completely  cut  off  that  she  fan- 
cied herself  at  peace  with  the  past.  Her  happi- 
ness was  supreme.  Coming  home,  it  was  proposed 
that  they  travel  to  New  York  by  water.  There 
was  a  time  when  Selma  would  have  opposed  such  a 
plan ;  she  had  once  thought  that  no  power  on  earth 
could  induce  her  to  again  mount  the  gangplank  of 
a  steamer. 

15ut  now  when  Arthur  said  it  was  "  all  right, 
perfectly  safe,  and  much  pleasanter, "'  she  thought 
no  more  about  her  former  dread  until  she  found 
herself  walking  with  him  arm-in-arm  upou  the 
deck  of  a  coast-liner. 

They  v.-ere  started  on  a  three-days'  voyage,  sail- 
ing away  from  the  happiest  scenes  of  lier  life. 

But  as  the  dusk  of  evening  fell,  and  they  still 
promenaded  the  deck,  she  suddenly  realized  that 
every  minute  ujion  this  steamer  was  carrying  her 
spirit  to  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi  mu:  ;i  faster 
than  to  New  York. 

Selma  became  more  and  more  pensive.  She  was 
219 


SELMA  THE  SOPRANO 

listening  not  lo  her  liusband's  liglit  talk,  b>it  to 
the  splashinj,'  of  the  dark  waves  tliat  -eenied  to 
whisper  among  themselves  of  a  niglit  long  ago 
when  they  belonged  to  the  mighty  river  and  had 
not  neared  the  ocean.  They  whisperecl  of  a  trag- 
edy :  of  two  women  alone  together— alone  in  night 
and  death.  "  And  no  one  ever  told  the  tale :  one  of 
them  died,  and  the  other  lived ;  and  the  living  one 
wedded  the  dead  one's  lortl. 

Alackadiiy  ! 
It  might  have  been  otherwise,  we  .say." 

In  the  gathering  gloom  a  s?a-bird  screamed,  and 
the  waves  rolled  on  with  their  mocking  s  mg. 

Selma  clasped  her  hands  to  her  ears  with  a  terri- 
fied cry. 

"Dearest  Selma,  what  is  it!"  exclaimed  Ar- 
thur, holding  her  in  his  arms  and  r -.bMng  her 
brow.     "  You  tremble  and  your  hands  are  cold." 

"  It  is  nothing,"  she  quickly  answered,  trying  to 
recover  herself.  "  Only  the  ship  and  the  ocean  ;— 
I  don't  like  the  ocean!  " 

She  grasped  his  arm  nervously.  "  .Vrthur,  tell 
me;  if  the  ship  should  go  down  right  now,  do  you 
think  this  bench  here  would  hold  both  of  us  if  we 
clung  to  it  in  the  water; — would  it  save  huth  a/ us  ?  " 

Ho  answered  tenderly  :  "  You  are  nervous,  little 
one.     T  think  we  had  better  go  below." 

But  Selma  was  nut  to  be  put  off;  her  question 
220 


t^ 


'RAKO 


SEL.MA  THE  SOPUAXO 


liglit  talk,  b>it  to 
ires  tliat  >eenied  to 

a  niglit  long  ago 
lity  river  and  had 
liispered  of  a  trag- 
her — alone  in  night 
;old  the  tale :  one  of 
and  the  living  one 


\l:icka(liiy  ! 
I'i.si',  we  say." 

bird  screamed,  and 

nocking  s  mg. 

jr  ears  with  a  terri- 

;!  "   exclaimed  Ar- 
1   and  r-.b')ing  her 
hands  are  cold." 
inswered,  trying  to 
p  and  the  ocean ; — 

sly.  "  .Vrthur,  tell 
right  now,  do  you 

d  both  (if  us  if  we 

it  sa.\'iil>'>f/i  of  us?  " 
are  nervous,  little 

below. " 

t  off;  her  question 


was   more   earnest  than  it    seemed.      So   Arthur 
finally  expressed  Ids  opinion  thus: 

"  I  really  think  it  would  be  advisable  to  engage 
two  benches  if  you  contemplate  being  rescued  in 
that  way;  and  I  tliink  you  will  be  doing  pretty 
well  to  succeed  then." 

His  light  answer  seemed  to  touch  all  the  humor 
in  her  nature.  Slio  laughed  until  she  nearly  cried ; 
and  tlicn  sho  i)ut  her  ai  i;is  about  his  neck  and  de- 
clared he  was  so  good  and  kind,  and  she  really  did 
not  fear  the  ocean  so  very  nuicli,  and  slie  did  not 
care  to  go  below  for  a  long  time.  And  she  thought 
of  so  many  jokes  to  tell,  and  was  so  witty  the  rest 
of  the  evening,  that  .Vrthur  declared  ho  wished  they 
could  always  travel  thus. 

liut  tliat  night  Selma  dreamed  a  terrible  dream. 
She  wept  in  her  sleep  till  Arthur  called  to  her  and 
asked  what  was  the  matter. 

"I  have  had  such  a  dream!  1  am  still  afraid. 
Arthur,  yu  said  one  bench  could  not  save  two 
people,      ^'..u  did  say  that-didn't  you?  " 

"Why,  I  suppose  so,"  he  answered,  miscon- 
struing her  tone.  "  r>ut  if  that  is  what  troubles 
you,  I  am  not  sure  but  one  bench  cnuhl  save  us 
both,  after  all.     So  there,  don't  worry!  " 

But  Selma  groaned ;  and  turning  in  her  berth, 
she  wept  silently  for  hours.  Siio  had  dreamed  a 
terrible  dream. 

That  voyage  left  an  impress  on  Selma.      For  days 
221 


SEL:\rA  THE  SOl'RANO 

auil  weeks  slu^  was  oppressed  liy  an  awful  sens*^ 
of  guilt.  She  lo-  -jed  to  confide  in  some  one — to 
hear  from  otln  :  .ps  that  her  fault  was  not  so 
great,  liut  she  sln-ank  from  confession,  for  it  was 
a  ditlicult  scene  to  portray.  Over  and  over  she 
planned  the  words;  but  they  always  colored  her 
deed  to  much  one  way  or  the  otluT — t-o  black  or 
too  bright-  for  she  knew  not  hers'  '  how  wrong  or 
how  right  she  had  been. 

One  sleepless  night  .sho  softly  arose  and  stole 
across  the  hall  to  tlia  room  where  iliriaiu  slept. 
Long  she  gazed  on  the  fair  young  face  Tlien  slowly 
Selma's  nervous  imagination  conjured  another  form 
watching  beside  her:  tluit  o/hcr  niothfr  wds  leaning 
over  the  opposite  side  of  the  crib,  and  her  sad  eyes 
seemed  to  say  :  "This  is  w^ home,  w(// child!  You 
have  no  right  to  be  here  to-night!  " 

Selma  shuddered,  and  cowered  in  a  big  arm-chair, 
and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

Hut  soon  little  fingers  pulled  her  own  away,  and 
a  childish  voice  sounded  in  her  ear  :  "  You  are  cry- 
ing— I  heard  you.     riea;;e  don't  cry !  " 

Miriam  had  climbed  over  on  to  Selma's  lap,  and 
was  trying  to  rub  tlie  tears  away. 

"Flease  don't  cry!  Has  some  one  hurt  you? 
Never  mind,  ^liriain  loves  you." 

Selma  clasped  to  her  heart  the  soft,  wai'm  form 
of  the  child,  and  she  felt  suddenly  cheered  and 
comforted.      A  vague,   unworded  belief   that  the 

233 


au  awful  sens'* 
II  some  one — to 
.ult  was  not  so 
ssion,  for  it  was 
r  and  ovor  she 
,ays  colored  her 
'r — t'.'O  black  or 
'.  how  wrong  or 

arose  and  stole 
•e  Miriam  slept. 
ee  Tlicn  slowly 
.red  another  form 
dker  was  leaning 
and  her  sad  eyes 
«(// child!     You 

1  a  l)ig  arm-chair, 

r  own  away,  and 
r  :  "  You  arecry- 
;ry!" 
Selnia's  lap,  and 

3  one  hurt  you? 

soft,  warm  form 

nly  cheered  and 

belief   that  the 


SELMA  THE  SOPRANO 

child  represented  tiie  mother  caused  Selma  to  trea.i- 
ure  each  word  of  atTectiou  as  a  peace-messa^'o  from 
the  grave. 

"I'erhaps  you  got  afraid  in  the  dark?"  contin- 
ued Miriam  J—"  I  uften  do." 

She  paused  a  moment,  and  tlieu  brightened  up 
with  au  idea. 

"  It's  a  good  thing  to  si'ii;/  if  you  are  afraid;— I 
often  <lo.      Let's  sing  and  rock  Dickery-dock!  " 

Miriam  at  once  started  off  in  a  higli,  thin  voice 
on  the  old  ridiculous  rime;  and  it  would  have  been 
a  stubborn  soul  that  could  have  failed  to  follow  her 
example.  Seljna  wrapped  a  l)ig  shawl  around  them, 
and  there  in  the  gray  dawn  they  rocked  and  .sang 
together.  They  both  enjoyed  the  song,  and  they 
both  fell  asleep. 

Thus  did  Miriam  ever  and  again  luiconsciousiy 
quiet  the  riot  of  accusing  conscience. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

TuE  months  and  years  rolled  by.  .Stlma  wa-i 
devoted  to  Miriam,  and  the  child  seemed  e([ually 
attached  to  Selma. 

They  walked  and  talked  together,  they  i)layed 
together  and  studied  music  together,  and  tliey 
laughed  and  sang  at  all  hours  of  tlu;  day.  :\rr. 
Holmes  was  often  cougratulatid  upon  his  happy, 
ideal  home. 

IMo  pains  were  spared  on  Miriam's  training;  and 
23a 


SELMA  THE  SOPRANO 

indeed,   Selma  was  strangely  ])articvilar   on  some 
points,  as  the  folluwiug  iustanco  will  show. 

Once  when  Miiiani  was  quite  a  girl  she  i  anie 
home  from  school  with  an  luiusual  amount  of  ve- 
hemence to  her  opening  and  shutting  of  the  door,  a 
suspicious  flinging  dovn  of  hat  and  hooks;  and 
then,  rushing  to  the  piano,  she  landed  with  tire 
and  fury  on  the  first  cliordof  Chopin's  Eevolution- 
ary  Etude.  She  dashed  down  the  opening  passage, 
nmtilated  the  notes  at  the  end,  and  to-o  the  tempo 
to  tatters. 

It  was  not  long  lief  ore  Selma  entered  the  parlor 
to  interfere. 

"Do  not  vent  your  temper  on  the  divine  art, 
Miriam — it  is  little  less  than  blasphemy." 

Whereupon  Miriam  turnev  round,  with  Hushed 
face  and  tear-choked  voice  : 

"Oh,  it  isn't  the  music  I  am  mad  at— it's  a  girl 
in  my  class!     I  hate  her-  I  just  hate  her!  " 

Selma  suddenly  spoke  up  with  tones  intense: 

"Miriam,  never  let  hatred  find  room  in  your 
heart.  If  another  has  done  you  harm,  you  but  do 
yourself  more  by  harboring  such  an  emotion." 

But  Miriam  was  not  so  easily  diverted  from  her 
wrongs.  She  still  protested  that  the  girl  in  ques- 
tion was  mean  and  unbearable. 

"But,  my  child,  don't  you  see  that  i)y  allowing 
yourself  to  hate  in  return  you  are  at  once  as  bad  as 
she?     And  furthermore,  you  dare  not  indulge  in 

224 


•RANG 

particular  on  soiuc 
e  will  show, 
to  a  girl  slui  <  ame 
sual  amount  of  ve- 
ittliig  of  the  door,  a 
at  ami  books;  and 
le  landed  with  tire 
hopin's  Eevolution- 
he  opening  passage, 
and  to'O  the  fewj>o 

entered  the  parlor 

on   the  divino  art, 

laspheniy." 

round,  with  Hushed 

mad  at— it's  a  girl 
St  hate  her!" 
th  tones  intense: 
find  room  in    yoiu- 
)U  harm,  you  but  do 
h  an  emotion." 
y  diverted  from  her 
hat  the  girl  in  ques- 

lee  that  i)y  allowing 
ire  at  once  as  bad  as 
lare  not  indulge  in 


si<:l.m.\  Til  10  soi'u.vxo 

such  thoughts  becuuso  of  the  sutfering  it  may  bring 
ujwn  you.  Su[)poae  t!ie  girl  you  luito  should  die! 
All,  Miriaiii,  you  never  want  that  experience— to 
know  that  a  soul  beyond  the  grave  has  such  a  score 
against  you! " 

iMiriam  was  now  listening,  overawed  by  Selma's 
strange  veheuience;  and  the  latter,  as  she  spo!<e, 
was  looking  at  Miriam  sadly  and  steadily,  tho  she 
seemed  to  see  beyond. 

"You  woiild  find  her  face  peering  at  you  in 
every  book  you  read,  in  every  picture  on  tho  wall, 
and  every  ember  on  the  hearth.  On  every  side 
you  would  meet  some  reminder  of  the  past — a 
look,  a  word,  a  song,  a  llower  or  its  perfume — and 
you  would  trace  some  resemblance  in  every  passing 
face.  IJelieve  me,  Miriam,  you  can't  alt'ord  to 
hate  any  living  creature — not  for  the  smallest  space 
of  time." 

Selma  jmt  her  arm  about  Miriam's  neck. 

"  Xow,  my  little  girl,  go  on  practising  your  Kev- 
olutionary  Etude,  but  let  it  express  a  revolution  of 
your  feelings.  ]Make  it  a  proclamatijii  of  victory, 
instead  of  a  war-cry." 

Miriam  turned  ag-'iin  to  tho  keyboard  and  played 
more  carefully,  following  the  melody  as  Selma 
sang  it.  The  young  girl  was  soon  impressed  that 
music  and  anger  do  not  go  togefl.er. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  ^Ir.  llulmes  accepted 
the  position  of  foreign  correspondent  to  tho  Xtw 
15  325 


SELMA  THE  SOl'UANO 

Y'ork  paper  witli  which  lio    had    hing  been  con- 
nected. 

"A  sojourn  abroad  will  do  you  good,"  ho  gladly 
announced  to  Selma.  "You  need  a  change,  my 
dear,  for  you  often  look  palo  and  tired.  And 
besides,  you  can  study  more  there— and  Miriam, 
too,  as  we  often  have  planned." 

Selma  was  delighted  to  liaar  this.  She  impul- 
sively kissed  him,  and  fondly  e.xclaimed : 

"  I  am  happy  with  you  anywhere;  but  it  will  be 
pefectly  inspiring  to  live  in  Europe.  We  will 
leave  America  and  all  our  cares  behind.  I  am 
going  to  forget  everything  but  you,  and  A^liriam, 
and  music !  " 

Selma  had  often  wished  to  give  ^Miriam  the  ad- 
vantages of  Europe,  and  to  study  there  herself, 
llor  own  voice  had  not  been  neglected  all  these 
years;  in  ff.jt,  it  had  improved,  and  she  was  often 
advised  to  work  for  grand  opera.  Mr.  Holmes, 
too,  was  proud  of  her  voice,  and  urged  her  to  make 
the  most  of  it.  So  it  was  arranged  that  Selma  and 
I»[iriam  should  study  in  Home  while  Mr.  Holmes 
traveled  about  as  his  work  required,  returning  to 
see  them  as  often  as  possible. 

Miriam  was  now  iifteen  years  years  old,  the  liv- 
ing picture  of  her  mother,  a  perpetual  pain  yet  in- 
dispciisublo  solace  to  Selma.  The  life  and  work  iu 
l?om(!  proved  to  bo  all  and  more  than  they  hiid 
hoped  for.      It  was    exhilarating.      Mix'iam  was 

236 


^ 


UNO 

1    lonj,'  been  con- 

i  good,"  ho  gladly 
sed  a  clumge,  my 
and  tired.  And 
ere— and  Miriam, 

this.  Sho  imiml- 
claimcd : 

ere;  but  it  will  be 
^^urope.  We  will 
es  behind.  I  am 
you,  and  ^liriam, 

ive  Miriam  the  ad- 
Lidy  there  herself, 
eglected  all  these 

and  she  was  often 
ra.     Mr.    Holmes, 

urged  her  to  make 
5ed  that  Selma  and 
while  Mr.  Holmes 
uired,  returning  to 

I  years  old,  the  liv- 
•petual  pain  yet  in- 
he  life  and  work  iu 
ore  than  they  hud 
iug.      Miriam  was 


SELMA  THE  SOPRANO 

enthusiastic  about  her  lessons  with  Sgambali,  and 
Selma  found  a  strange  delight  in  the  dramatic  side 
of  her  art. 

They  were  living  iu  the  via  Margherita,  on  tlio 
fifth  floor  of  an  old  jjalazzo  that  was  now  given 
over  to  students  of  all  kinds.  TIks  family  of  whom 
they  rented  rooms  were  artists  every  one  of  them, 
from  tho  father  on  down  to  tjio  youngest  daughter. 
In  tho  room  next  to  Selma  was  a  French  gul  learn- 
ing the  mandolin;  above,  were  souiula  of  an  or- 
gan; on  the  first  floor  was  a  seulptor'.s  studio: 
hard  workers  all;  unknown  as  yet,  but  hoping  each 
one  to  thrill  the  world  some  day. 

One  evening  after  a  day  of  hard  practise,  Selma 
and  Miriam  were  sitting  in  their  room.  They 
were  tired  and  absolutely  quiet— a  rare  occurrence; 
for  between  singing,  declamation,  and  piano-prac- 
tise their  room  was  one  of  the  noisiest  iu  the  house. 
But  to-night  they  were  resting.  Tho  window 
was  open,  and  presently,  from  below,  or  above,  or 
next  door,  they  heard  a  piano.  At  lirst  they  paid 
little  heed;  but  soon  Selma  looked  at  Miriam  and 
Miriam  answered  back,  "  It  is  beautiful !  " 

The  p]ayer  was  not  an  artist;  he  stumbled  over 
the  scales,  and  his  arpeggios  were  execrable;  but 
the  music  he  played  was  what  astonished  them, 

" Bid  you  ever  hear  it  before?"  asked  Miriam; 
and  Selma  said : 

"No.     It  is  as  different  from  Wagner  as  it  is 
227 


SKLMA  Tin:  SOIMIANO 

from  r.ossiui.  I  '  ii"'t  l'l=i^«  it.  Uut  how  beauti- 
ful! There,  that  luoUxlyl  <.)h,  it  makes  oue 
want  to  cry!" 

Tlicy  listened  on,  and  Sclma  was  alTectetl  as 
never  bcfuro  by  the  power  of  music. 

There  \verc  such  stiango  modulations,  such  mad, 
weird  thetaes.  Long  after  the  playing  ceased 
those  mel.Mlies  sang  in  her  brain,  and  the  next  day 
they  still  dung  to  her. 

She  was  unconsciously  humming  one  on  her 
way  down  those  dreary  five  flights  of  stairs. 

"You  are  singing  my  music!  Where  did  you 
get  it?"  suddenly  inquired  a  voice  behind  her. 

Selma  hooked  up  and  saw  a  pale,  thin,  eager-eyed 
young  n.an,  who  from  his  speech  was  American, 
tho  his  features  were  Italian. 

'•  I  suppose  I  heard  you  playing  it.  Are  you 
the  compoHcr?  You  played  like  one-bad  tech- 
nique, good  touch.     But  your  music  is  wonder- 

"Yes,  1  know,"  he  answered  naturally.  liut 
tell  mo,  are  you  the  soprano  upstairs?  You  disturb 
me  awfully,  but  1  like  your  voice.  Are  you  study- 
ing for  opera?" 

"  Yes,  of  course.  Don't  you  hear  me  falling  on 
the  floor  when  I  practise  dying  and  fainting?  " 

"  That  is  so.  I  often  wondered  what  was  the 
matter  up  there,  but  never  thought  anything  so 
tragic.     I  should  think  my  opera  would  suit  you. 

22)i 


ANO 

ISut  liow  boauti- 
li,    it    makes    ouo 

L  was  atTecteil   as 

isic. 

lations,  such  mad, 

10   i>laying   ceased 

,  ami  tho  next  day 

ming  one  on    her 
its  of  stairs. 
!     Where  did  you 
nee  behind  her. 
le,  thin,  eager-eyed 
ech  was  American, 

lying  it.     Are  you 

kc  one — bad  tech- 

luusic  is  wonder- 

il  naturally.  "But 
itairs?  You  disturb 
ce.     Are  you  study- 

L  hear  me  falling  on 
;  and  fainting?  " 
ilered  what  was  the 
.bought  anythuig  so 
jera  would  suit  you. 


] 


V 


HELMA  THK  Sol'HANO 

It  has  one  deatli  liy  apoplexy,  one  by  drowning, 
and  two  suicides  I  " 

Selnia  laugiicd.  "That  sounds  attractive,  and 
it  is  in  my  lino,  liring  it  up  .sometime,  if  you 
like." 

"  .Ml  right.  Good-day."  He  went  to  his  work, 
ami  sho  to  hers.  Thoy  were  both  earnest  and  busy, 
and  never  noticed  tho  unconventionality  or  tersenesfj 
of  their  speerh. 

That  evenincj  the  composer  carried  his  precious 
portfolio  to  the  floor  above,  and,  ringing  the  bell, 
in(|mred  for  "tho  sojirano." 

It  was  the  first  call  Selma  and  Miriam  had  re- 
ceived, and  when  the  landlady  announced  a  visi- 
tor they  exclaimed  at  once :  "  Oh,  yes — tho  com- 
poser !  " 

hotli  were  delighted  at  tho  prospect  of  hearing 
that  wonderful  music,  and  the  composer  was 
equally  delighted  to  have  a  sympathetic  audience. 
Hut  before  playing  he  had  to  explain  his  music. 

"I  have  based  my  libretto  on  Zola's  novel, 
'  Thi-reso  Tiaquin, '  "  ho  said.  "  You  have  never 
read  it?  Oh,  I  am  sorry !  Well,  T  must  tell  it  to 
you.  It  is  very  intense  and  terrible,  but  that  is 
why  I  like  it;  tame  plots  require  tame  music,  and 
comedy  in  music  is  something  for  which  I  have  no 
sympathy." 

Selma  agreed  with  him  on  this  point;  light  mu- 
sic never  appealed  to  her. 


SEI.MA  TllK  SOPRANO 

Tlic  two  wninoii  weni  stiatcd  in  attentive  attitiulos 
on  either  side  of  tlio  piano,  while  tlio  ooniposor 
stationed  on  the  stool  jnoceeded  to  toll  his  story. 

"To  jiiit  It  conciacly,  tho  main  idea  of  Zola'a 
plot  is  this:  A  couple  lovo  each  other,  hut  one 
is  already  niarvii  d.  This  obstacle  to  their  union 
is  disposed  of  by  drowning.  Tho  victim's  death  ia 
supi)08ed  to  bo  accidental,  but  in  point  of  fact  it 
was  nuir<ler,  and  the  heroine  herself  had  a  hand 
in  it.  The  lovers  are  afterward  married,  and  tho 
strength  of  the  opera  lies  in  the  mental  suffering  of 
Tht'ri'se,  who  is  continually  haunted  by  visions  of 
the  dead." 

"Well,  I  should  think  she  would  be!"  ex- 
claimed Miriam;  and  then,  glancing  toward  Sel- 
nia,  who  had  not  spoken,  she  jumped  up  with  a 
cry   of   surprise. 

Selnia  had  fainted!  Miriam  rushed  to  the  next 
room  for  water;  but  when  she  returned,  Selma  liad 
already  opened  her  eyes.  A  fainting  spell  usually 
leaves  one  half  hysterical.  Selma  was  smiling  and 
sobbing  at  the  same  time.  She  suddenly  turned 
toward  tho  composer,  who'  still  sat  on  tho  piano- 
stool,  too  astonished  and  frightened  to  do  anything. 
"  I  don't  liko  your  opera — take  it  away!  "  Sel- 
ma's  eyes  sparkled,  and  she  spoke  excitedly.  "  It 
is  horrible !  You  degrade  nnisic  by  adapting  it  to 
such  emotions.  I  am  sorry  I  ever  heard  it.  I 
hope  it  will  never  succeed!  " 

230 


ANO 

it-tentivo  attitiidfa 
ilo  tlio  coinposoi' 
;o  tell  his  story, 
in  idea  of  Zola's 
;h  other,  but  ono 
lie  to  tlieir  union 
9  victim's  death  ia 
1  point  of  fact  it 
orstdf  liad  a  hand 
married,  and  the 
uental  HufTering  of 
ited  by  visions  of 

would  be! "  ex- 
uoiug  toward  Sel- 
umped  up  with  a 

•nsiied  to  the  next 
iturned,  Selma  had 
nting  spell  usually 
ua  was  smiling  and 
e  suddenly  turned 
sat  on  the  piano- 
led  to  do  anything. 
:e  it  away!  "  Sel- 
ke  excitedly.  "  It 
3  by  adapting  it  to 
ever  heard  it.     I 


SELMA  TIIK  SOPRANO 

This  was  too  much.  The  youn^,'  man  gathered 
up  his  portfolio. 

"  As  my  work  has  no  probability  of  a  public 
hearing,  your  good  wiahis  can  bo  dispensed  with! 
I  bid  you  good-evening." 

He  went  out  of  the  room  faster  than  lie  came  in. 

"  Dear  Selma,  why  did  you  speak  so?  You 
made  him  very  angry." 

•  Is  that  so?  Well,  I  am  sorry.  I5ut  I  am  so 
tired!" 

Selma  was  nervous  and  feverish,  so  Miriam  said 
no  more  about  the  matter. 

The  next  morning  Selma  seemed  herself  again. 

"I  must  apologi/.e  to  that  composer  the  next 
time  I  meet  him.  To  discourage!  an  earnest  musi- 
cian is  little  less  than  a  crime.  I  am  ashamed  of 
myself." 

Miriam  was  pleased  by  this  announcement,  and 
she  settled  down  to  her  work  composedly  wliilo 
Selma  went  out. 

Sehiui's  ostensible  errand  was  to  the  bank,  but 
this  was  not  the  direction  she  gave  the  calrdrivcr. 
Ho  was  ordered  to  "  St.  Peter's." 

A  wild  determination  had  settled  upon  Selma 
during  the  previous  ni^dit,  for  the  composer's 
stgry  had  pierced  lier  soul  like  a  doomsday  call, 
and  she  could  not  bear  her  secret  lunger. 

Selma  entered  the  doors  of  St.  Peter's  and  hast- 
ened down  t].e  vast  nave — past  pillars  and  pic- 

3;U 


1  ', 


SELMA  THE  SOPRANO 


tiiTPS  and  chapels  of  stoiio ;  past  mosaics  that  glis- 
tened and  marble  that  shone;  past  relics  of  saints 
and  tombs  of  the  dead;  past  low-bnrning  tapers 
and  pale  lights  o'orhead;  past  people  that  prayed 
and  others  that  stayed  to  gaze  on  the  beauties 
around  them. 

It  is  a  long  journey  from  the  entrance  of  St. 
Peter's  to  its  transept.  But  it  was  not  to  see  or 
to  listen  that  Selma  this  morning  hurried  on — it 
was  to  spi'dk.  She  had  often  been  here,  and  liad 
noted  on  tho  left-hand  side  a  Gcmi-ciiclo  of  cur- 
tained retreats.  They  are  the  confessionals  for 
all  nations. 

Selma  knew  nothing  of  the  Roman  Church  save 
the  vague  and  consoling  idea  that  in  the  confes- 
sional you  can  tell  your  troubles  to  a  wise  and 
willing  listener  who  will  counsel,  but  not  betray. 

With  tho  courage  of  despair,  Selma  stei)i)ed  un- 
der the  curtain  that  bore  tho  comforting  word  of 
welcome — "  English. " 

Still  more  despairing  she  came  out.  The  place 
was  vacant,  and  Selma  was  too  weary  and  heart- 
sick to  make  any  further  attc'mpt  or  inquiries. 

She  leaned  languidly  against  tho  lalustrade  of 
the  great  high  altar. 

"I  must  struggle  on,"  she  v.- as  thinking,  "and 
smile  with  the  living  while  haunted  by  the  dead. 
No  peace,  no  helji,  no  sympathy!  " 

She  mused  on  for  some  moments,  and  a  terrified 
232 


NO 

jsaics  that  glis- 
relics  of  saiuts 
■burning  tapers 
)le  that  prayed 
n   the    beauties 

entrance  of  St. 
IS  not  to  see  or 
hurried  on — it 
n  here,  and  Iiad 
li-ciich^  of  cur- 
anfessiouals  for 

lan  Churcli  save 
in  the  confes- 
to  a  wise  and 

)ut  not  betray. 

hua  stepped  un- 

foiting  Avord  of 

out.     The  place 
eary  and  heart- 
)r  inquiries, 
e  lalustrade  of 

thinking,  "and 
ed  by  the  dead. 

,  and  a  terrified 


SKLMA  THE  SOPRANO 

expression  pass.^d  over  lier  face    as  slie  tliought 
again  of  "Tlierese  Kaquin."' 

Why  must  she  needs  encounter  this  story,  so 
like  her  own,  liere  far  from  lioine,  where  she  was 
so  happy  and  worldng  so  earnestly  to  forget  the 
past!     Truly,  fate  seemed  hard  against  her. 

The  high-niched  saints  and  painted  madonnas 
had  seldom  looked  down  upon  a  more  wretched 
woman  than  was  Selma  at  that  moment.  oMiser- 
ably  and  appealingly  she  glanced  about  her  as  a 
consciousness  of  the  surrounding  glories  came  upon 
her. 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  mighty  reverbera- 
tion, a  throb  as  of  human  hearts,  and  then  one  re- 
sounding chord  of  music  like  a  trumpet-blast  from 
heaven.     It  v.'as  the  organ  of  St.  Peter's. 

As  tho  tremendous  harmonies  rolled  on  they 
brouglit  Sehna  to  her  knees  and  tears  to  her  eyes. 
Tlie  organist  was  voicing  grandly  a  fugue  on  a  well- 
known  theme,  tho  Aria  from  "  Stradella."'  The 
glorious  tunc  ke])t  working  its  way  through  trem- 
olos, chords,  and  thirds;  sometimes  accompanied 
and  sometimes  alone,  in  major  and  minor  and  all 
possible  keys.  Xow  high  and  now  low,  now  fa;ft 
and  now  slow,  it  soared  from  all  parts  of  the  organ 
like  a  prayer  from  all  parts  of  tho  earth. 

When  Selma  finally  emerged  from  St.  Peter's 
the  violence  of  her  emotions  had  been  conquered, 
and  a  new  purpose  shone  in  her  face. 

2;J.3 


1^ 


SELMA  THE  SOrRANO 

It  seemed  to  have  been  revealed  to  her  that  fate 
had  thrown  this  stiange  opera  in  her  path;  but  it 
was  meant  as  a  guiding  torch  instead  of  a  destroy- 
ing brand.  The  composer  was  evidently  poor  and 
discouraged.  It  vas  plainly  intended  that  she 
should  help  him  to  prominence;  for  no  one  on 
earth  could  portray  the  character  of  "Theiese 
Eaiiuin  "  so  well  as  she. 

So  Selma,  always  (luick  in  decision  and  impul- 
sive in  action,  stopped  at  the  floor  below  their  own 
in  the  old  palazzo  of  the  via  Jlargherita. 

"  I  wish  to  speak  with  the  young  American  com- 
poser," she  told  the  landlady  who  opened  the  door. 
The  young  man  arose  frn;ii  his  work  and  came 
forward  with  very  bad  grace.  He  paid  little  at- 
tention to  Selma' 3  apologies  about  the  evening  be- 
fore, but  began  to  look  at  her  curiously  when  she 
asked  for  the  loan  of  his  manuscript. 

"  You  know  I  am  studying  for  grand  opera,  and 
intend  to  make  my  debut  before  returning  to 
America.  Now  if  you  will  allow  me  to  study  the 
score,  and  the  music  seems  suited  to  my  voice,  I 
shall  be  pleased  to  create  the  role  of  Therese  Ra- 

quin." 

The  composer  was  thoughtful  for  a  momeiv. 
He  evidently  regarded  Selma  as  a  very  eccentric 
and  troublesome  neighbor.  At  last  he  spoke  up 
firmly :  "  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  madam,  that  I 
have  already  submitted  my  opera  to  every  manager 

234 


Hi, 


NO 


SELMA  THE  SOPRANO 


to  her  that  fate 
er  path ;  but  it 
id  of  a  destroy - 
lently  poor  and 
inded  that  she 
for  no  one  on 
r  of    "Theiese 

ion  and  impul- 
lelow  their  own 
,erita. 

American  coni- 
pened  the  door, 
work  and  came 
e  paid  little  ut- 
the  evening  be- 
iously  when  she 
ot. 

;rand  opera,  and 
•e  returning  to 
me  to  study  the 
L  to  my  voice,  I 

of  Therese  Ra- 

for  a   momeiv. 

a  very  eccentric 
ist  he  spoke  up 
,  madam,  that  I 
to  every  manager 


In  Rome.       It  is  needless  to  try  to  get  a  hear- 
ing." 

Selma  waived  this  objection  aside. 

"We  can  discuss  th;it  part  afterw&rd.  If  you 
do  not  wish  to  let  the  whole  manuscript  go  out  of 
yotir  hands,  give  me  only  a  part,  and  I  will  loam 
it  by  to-morrow  evening.  You  can  come  up  then, 
and  we  will  have  a  rehearsal." 

Her  surmise  was  correct;  he  hesitated  to  give 
up  his  precious  manuscript  to  this  strange  woman. 
He  entertained  some  fears  that  she  might  take  a 
second  sudden  dislike  to  it.     Selma  continued : 

"  Let  me  try  one  of  the  scenes  you  referred  to, 
where  Therfeso  is  hn.unted  by  a  vision  of  the  dead 
wife." 

"Dead  wife? — dead  husband,  you  mean,"  qui- 
etly corrected  the  composer. 

Selma  gave  a  little  start  of  surprise.  "  Then  it 
was  not  the  man's  wife  that  was  drowned?  " 

With  a  sort  of  nervous  inspiration  she  quickly 
tried  to  explain.  "I  suppose  I  thought  it  was 
so- — because  —  perhaps  —  the  vision  of  a  woman 
seemed  more  beautiful — more  artistic  than  that  of 
a  man." 

The  composer  looked  up  and  spoke  with  anima- 
tion. 

"  It  is  more  artistic.  You  are  quite  right — you 
have  given  me  an  idea.  There  is  no  reason  why  I 
can't  revoi'se  those  characters!     I  certainly  shall 

235 


SIOLMA  THE  SOPRANO 

do  so.  Here  is  the  scene  you  asked  for;  take  it 
and  try  it.  And  pleabo  change  the  pvonouns  wJien 
you  sing  it  so  as  to  have  a  feminine  pliautoni." 

Sehnr.  took  the  manuscript,  and  tlie  com])oser 
watched  it  wltli  some  misgivings,  tucked  under  her 
arm  anit  carried  upstairs. 

r>ut  it  was  reassuring  to  hear  the  ^liano  above 
soon  responding  to  those  beloved  liarnionie'^. 

The  composer  went  through  some  strange  con- 
tortions all  liy  himself  in  the  room  below,  I'.eing 
in  nuinuscript  and  not  overplain,  the  work  of  de- 
ciphering did  not  go  so  smoothly  as  he  could 
have  wished.  With  every  false  note  or  hesitancy 
in  tlie  rhythm  this  unknown  genius  would  writhe 
and  groan,  but  with  every  phrase  of  beauty  he 
would  beam  ecstatically. 

r.ut  composers  are  apt  to  be  unreasonable,  and 
so  with  this  yov.ng  enthusiast.  On  hearing  for  the 
second  time  a  sixteenth  note  where  he  expected  a 
thirty-second,  he  grabbed  up  his  hat  and  rushed 
out  of  the  house,  declaring  ho  could  not  stay  and 
hear  his  music  murdered. 

Ho  did  not  go  home  until  iiight,  and  the  next 
day  he  als.i  stayed  away. 

Th.pt  evening  ho  clind)ed  upstairs  with  many 
misgivings.  He  rang  the  bell  of  the  <5tage  above 
and  asked  once  again  for  "the  soprano." 

Selma  and  Miriam  received  him  at  the  door. 
They  both  were  enthusiastic  about  his  music. 

23a 


C) 

I  for;  t,al;o  it 
vonouns  when 
[iliautoni." 
tlie  comjioser 
kod  under  her 

3  pian<j  above 
iinonies. 
3  strange  con- 
iL'linv,  lieing 
3  work  of  (lo- 
■  as  he  could 
3  or  hesitancy 
i  Asould  writhe 
of  beauty  he 

easonablo,  and 
iiearing  for  the 
lie  expected  a 
at  and  rushed 
1  not  stay  and 

and  the  next 

irs  with  many 

lie  etage  above 

mo." 

I  at  the  door- 

lis  music. 


SELIMA  THE  SOPKANO 

"  Let  us  begin  at  once, "  said  Selma.  "Miriam 
is  tlie  orchestra  aiid  you  are  the  audience.  I'lease 
sit  over  there  on  the  trunk  or  the  steamer-chair. 
Now,  Miriam,  begin." 

"  Hold  on !"  cried  the  Cv)niposer.  "  You  must  ex- 
plahi  your  stage-settir  .  Jf  this  is  the  visiou- 
scene,  where  is  the  vision'.'" 

'•  Oh,  I  will  turn  toward  the  window,  or  any- 
where; it  matters  not  where  1  look,  1  shall  see  the 
ghost  of  the  murdered  woman." 

Selnia  spoke  fast  and  recklessly.  "  I  shall  see 
her  beautiful  pale  face  and  golden  hair.  Oh,  have 
no  fear,  1  can  easily  imagine  that  part!  " 

Selma's  breath  came  fast  and  her  eyes  shone 
like  burning  coals ;  but  the  composer  did  not  heed — 
ho  had  too  many  ideas  of  his  own. 

••  I  won't  have  a  blond  ghoil!  "  he  suddenly  ex- 
claimed. "  The  vision  must  bo  beautiful,  but  not 
blond." 

"  And  why  not?  "  asked  Miriam  and  Selma  to- 
gether. 

"  dimply  because  the  blond  type  is  not  tragic. 
The  audience  would  admi' 3,  but  not  be  thrilled; 
we  must  have  a  brunette  ghost!  " 

"Well,  all  right.  I  can  imagine  it,  anyway. 
Now  I  am  ready  to  begin.  I  am  supposed  to  have 
on  my  bridal  robes,  and  am  in  my  own  room.  Mir- 
iam, start  up  the  orchestra. " 

The  composer  began  beating  the  tcmijo,  but  he 
237 


!' 


SELMA  THE  SOPRANO 

soon  stopped,  and  Miriam  also  turned  round  from 
the  niano,  amazed  at  Sehua's  performance 

The  singer  did  not  miss  the  accompaniment. 
Her  puie,  full  voice  rendered  without  effort  the 
new  and  difficult  music.  But  it  was  the  wonderful 
expression-the  passion,  pathos,  pain,  and  power 
of  her  acting-that  most  astounded.  The  meaning 
of  every  word  was  driven  deep  in  the  hearts  of  her 
hearers — 

"The  guests  are  waiting,  aiul  I  can  hear 
The  souiul  of  music  and  festive  clieer  , 
But  tliis  Jay  that  I  longed  for  brings  me  paui, 
For  I  think  of  tho  past  and  tlio  dead  again." 
The  wretched  heroine  of  the  opera  recalls  with 
fearful  minuteness  the  scene  and  details  of  the 
murder-,  how  tho  drowning  woman  J  desperately 
tried  to  grasp  and  clmg  to  my  hand !  " 

There  is  an  appalling  hush  after  this  crescendo; 
then  in  sweet,  faint  tones,  like  a  voice  from  the 
past,  Th^rese  remembers— 

"Tho  ensuing  silence 
Of  the  warm  summer  night, 
The  sweet-smelling  flowers, 
And  Iho  bright  moonlight." 

Very  grandly  had  the  composer  accomplished 
his  task.  The  agony  of  conscience  was  depicted  by 
a  chromatic  theme  of  peculiar  rhythm,  while  be- 
neath in  the  orchestra  were  to  be  heard  aistant 
strains  of  a  wedding-dance. 

238 


% 


NO 


nod  round  from 
rmauco 

accompaniment. 
;hout  effort  the 
IS  the  Avonderfnl 
jam,  and  power 
.  The  meaning 
,he  hearts  of  her 

I  hear 
liuer , 

ngs  me  pain, 
uivX  again." 

pera  recalls  with 
d  details  of  the 
lan  "desperately 

lid!" 

ir  this  crescendo; 

a  voice  from  the 


night, 
lowers, 
ihght." 

)ser   accomplished 

ce  was  depicted  by 

rhythm,  while  be- 

be  heard  distant 


Selrr.a  fell,  limp  and  artistically. 


SELMA  THE  SOPRANO 

Tlidr^se  tunia  io  meet  lier  lu-wly  wi'd  lover,  hut 
is  confronted,  instead,  by  a  vision  of  the  dead 
wife. 

With  a  shriek  like  a  tortured  .soul  of  the  inferno, 
Sehna  fell,  limp  and  artistically. 

She  quickly  arose. 

"IIow  is  it?  Will  I  do?"  The  composer  w,  s 
wiping  his  eyes,  and  laughing  and  singing  uid 
clapping  his  liands  all  at  once.  "  You  are  Ther(';;c 
herself — my  very  own  'r!i('iese!  Oh,  my  opera  is 
a  success!  All  the  world  shall  hear  it.  I  \.A\ 
borrow  money,  sell  my  libraiy,  work,  st.e-  —any- 
thing to  bring  it  out,!  And  then  I  shall  L,  gre:i,t; 
it  will  all  como  back  to  me.  Oh,  you  aro  wonder- 
ful— you  have  saved  me!  You  don't  know  ho<f/ 
delighted  I  am.  This  is  the  happiest  day  of  my 
life!" 


CHAPTER  Vir. 

Selma  could  not  wait  to  write  the  news  to  Mr. 
Holmes,  who  was  then  in  Constantinople,  but  tele- 
graphed at  once : 

"Have  found  wonderful  new  opera,  (iieat  lOlu.  Will 
ddbut  in  the  fall.     Do  come  back  koou." 

P^-ofessional  musicians  will  doubtless  smile  at 
the  assurance  and  the  unprecedented  manner  with 
which  this  composer  and  singer  went  to  work. 
But  it  must  be  borne  in  miud  that  they  were  both 

389 


SELMA  'rill-:  SOPRANO 

conscious  ..f  genuine  u.nit,   Ix'tli  willing  lo  risk 
auytliing,  and  both  in  a  ui.iisuro  a.-spomt.-. 

Sehna  advaucoa  two  thirds  of  the  n.ouoy,  an.l 
the cou.posc.r  Innrowcd  t]>o  rest.  The  expenses  were 
not  so  gre.it  as  might  ho  supposed,  the  house  and  or- 
chestra being  the  chief  item..  '1  he  composer  was 
to  be  nmsie  director  atul  stage  manager,  ^o  chorus 
was  re.iuired,  and  the  scenery  wus  comnumplace. 
A  celebrated  tc.u)r  was  engug.'d  upon  a  proht-shar- 
hig  contract.      All  summer  the  work  went  on. 

Mr.  llohnes  arrived  some  weeks  before  the  im- 
portant date,  and,  being  himself  a  journalist,  he 
h.stnotime  in  visiting  tlie  critic,  and  attnidmg 
to  all  the  announcements --the  placards,  posters, 
programs,  librettos,  tickets,  and  advertising.  Ho 
became  in  fact  a  general  manager  both  on  and  otf 

the  stage. 

The  composer  burned  many  a  candle  low  while 
desi.niing  costumes  and  stage  settings,  and  Selma 
studied  to  the  limit  of  her  strength.      Her  thoughts 
were  always  with  the  opera,  and  she  luudly  knew 
when  she  was  Therc'se  and  when  herself,     feomc- 
times  the  mournful  couclusion  would  settle  upon 
her  that  there  was  very  little  difference  between 
her  own  life  and  the  story  of  the  opera.     'I  hen 
again  she.  would  think  quite  otherwise,  and  woukl 
feel  light-hearted,  ana  believe  that  iu   portraying 
this  character  she  was  doing  penance  foi   a  guilt 
that  was  purely  imaginary. 

210 


VNO 


SKLMA   Tin:  Sol'UANO 


,  willing  In  risk 

.('Spi'l'tlt*'. 

Uio  luouey,  iuul 
he  expeusos  were 
the  house  and  or- 
he  couiiio.scr  was 
!i<'er.     No  chorus 
as  comniunplaci', 
1)011  a  protit-sluu- 
WGik  wt'ut  on. 
•.s  bvfori!  the  im- 
;  a  journalist,  ho 
ics  unci  utUndiujj 
placards,  posters, 

advertising.      Ho 
r  both  on  and  otf 

oandlo  low  while 
^ttings,  and  Schna 
th.     I  ler thoughts 
1  she  hardly  knew 
a  herself,      Sonic- 
would  settle  nijou 
ilifference  between 
tho  opera.     Then 
lerwise,  and  would 
that  iu  portraying 
cuauee  for   a  guilt 


Ifehoarsals  progressed  satisfactorily,  at  least  to 
tho  jiiirties  most  concerned.  Tlio  .'-uperiiuineraries 
were  in  a  constant  slate  of  turmoil  ov.  r  the  ctini- 
poser's  strango  directions  and  indoniitalilo  will. 

Wo  have  mentioned  before  that  tho  services  of 
a  professional  Htag(!  manager  Avere  dispensed  witli. 
This  was  not  so  much  from  ccoiiomy  rj  ncc('s;it\ 
for  it  was  soon  evident  that  no  (/no  would  or  could 
meet  tho  demands  of  this  most  erratio  composer. 

'I'ho  final  reliearsal  went  without  a  hitch.  Tha 
orclu'stra  was  well  drilled  and  tlu)  enseiidjles  were 
perfect.  Miriam  served  as  Selma's  maid  and  an 
all-roiiml  convenience.  She  was  as  excited  and  in- 
terested in  all  preparations  as  if  the  whole  affair 
rested  upon  her  shoulders. 

Tho  night  of  the  performance  arrived.     Selm. 
found  lierself  in  good  voice,  and  she  looked  unusu- 
ally handsome,    altho  worn    a  little    thin    by  her 
long  work. 

After  seehig  Selnia  and  :\ririam  to  their  dressing- 
room,  Mr.  Holmes  liastened  to  his  managerial 
duties. 

Selma  was  soon  arrayed  in  her  costume,  and  she 
told  Miriam  to  go  and  help  the  others.  As  ]\Iiriam 
reached  tho  door,  .Selma  suddenly  rushed  forward 
aiul-end)raced  her,  exclaiming  brightly:  "  Vou 
must  wish  me  success."  IMiriam  responded  hearti- 
ly. "  I  know  your  success  is  certain  j  your  voice  is 
cj  pure  and  so  sure,  and  you  locjk  so  beautiful  to- 
10  '>iil 


8KLMA  Till-:  SOI'UANO 


niRht--i)orfectly  lovely !     I  can  hardly  stop  look- 
iii|^  at  you!  " 

WhiTi'Uiioii  Seliiia  laufjhed  and  warbled,  and 
threw  kisses  to  Miriam  from  the  dressing-room 
door. 

The  ojiera  of  " 'I'liereso  Kaquin"  opens  with  the 
scene  of  the  nnirder.  The  distant  cry  fif  a  wom- 
an's voice,  somewhat  resonibling  Wagner's  shriek 
of  the  Walkiire,  forms  the  lirst  voeal  musie  of  the 
opera.  Tiio  curtain  rises  npon  a  moonlit  scene  at 
the  bank  of  a  stream,  and  the  orchestra  proceeds 
to  weave  out  strange,  moaning  harmonies — the  cry 
of  a  river-bird  and  the  splashing  of  waves.  I'res- 
ently  a  boat  touches  shore,  and  a  man  and  a  woman 
climbs  out.  They  are  pale  and  fearful.  It  is 
Therese  Kaipnu  and  her  lover.  Their  opening 
d\iet  is  mysterious  and  uncanny,  but  at  last  it 
swell  out  into  defiant  harmonies  indicative  of 
their  determination  to  brave  the  consequences  of 
their  deed.  Thou  follows  the  entrance  of  the  vic- 
tim's old  motlier,  who  has  come  in  search  of  the 
tardy  excursionists.  The  guilty  couple  carefully 
and  dramatically  explain  to  her  how  they  all  came 
near  being  drowned ;  how  they  tried  to  save  the 
poor  wife,  but  in  vain.  The  mother,  at  first 
stunned  by  the  terrible  account,  begins  to  doubt 
their  tale,  and  she  finally  hurls  maledictions  upon 
them.  She  accuses  them  of  killing  her  daughter; 
she  cries  out  fur  help,  and  would  denounce  them, 

213 


iANO 

hardly  stop  look- 

ml   wiirbled,    and 
he  dri'Hsing-room 

I  "  opens  witli  tho 
.nt  cry  of  a  wom- 
;  Wagnoi'a  shriek 
ocal  nui.sie  of  tlio 
a  moonlit  8<'t'no  at 
rcheatra  proceeds 
irnionies — the  cry 
of  waves.  1 'res- 
man  and  a  woman 
il  fearful.  It  is 
.  Their  opening 
y,  but  at  last  it 
ies  indicative  of 
3  consequences  of 
itrance  of  tho  vie- 
in  search  of  the 
y  coujile  carefully 
how  they  all  came 
tried  to  save  the 
mother,  at  first 
;,  begins  to  doubt 
maledictions  upon 
ling  her  daughter; 
d  denounce  them, 


8ELMA  THE  HOPRANO 

but  thn  oxcitenient  overcomes  her,  and  she  falls 
down  in  a  fit  of  apuplcxy.  When  assistance  conies 
she  tries  to  speak,  but  can  not.  The  curtain  de- 
scends. 

This  first  net  was  received  enthusiastically. 
Kven  the  musicians  in  the  oi  chest ra  applauded. 
The  contrabassist  nodded  his  head  i.)  tho  drum- 
mer, exclaiming:  "Very  good,  very  good!  The 
soprano  has  talent  and  originality."  'I'lie  musi- 
ciaiis  left  their  instruments  and  went  back  uiuler 
the  stage  during  the  interim.  There  all  was 
bustle  and  hurry  in  preparing  for  tho  second  act— 
tho  "  vision  scene." 

Sulma  was  again  leady  before  the  stage-setting, 
so  Miriam  wcnLover  to  Mr.  Holmes,  who  was  busy 
arranging  the  "  vision." 

The  lights  an<l  final  touches  were  being  be- 
stowed. Tho  dark-eyed,  finely  proportioned  figu- 
rante stepj)ed  into  her  place  to  represent  the  ghost, 
murnmring,  as  she  did  so,  that  her  eyes  were  nearly 
blind  from  a  headache.  She  had  barely  taken  her 
position  and  arranged  her  long  black  hair  artisti- 
cally when  she  toppled  over  in  a  faint. 

They  carried  her  off  with  scant  sympathy,  for 
there  was  too  much  concern  about  the  "  vision." 
It  hmst  soon  bo  mounted,  for  the  act  had  already 
commenced.  Selma's  voice  could  be  heard  soaring 
out  in  her  great  solo  like  a  bird  on  the  wing. 
"  Quick,  there !  Who  will  do  to  iiU  this  place?  " 
243 


tmnrn^ 


SELiMA  THE  SOl'llANO 


crie(.    Mr.   Holmes  in    despair,   as  he  heard  that 
solo  gleadily  neariug  the  eud. 

"  I  can  do  it,  papa !  1  have  seen  it  so  often,  I 
know  the  pose." 

Mr.  Holmes  wasted  no  words.  He  hurried  Mir- 
iam into  the  costume,  and  i)Owdered  her  face  at  tho 
same  time.  Then  every  one  in  tlie  vicinity  had  a 
hand  in  trying  to  iit  the  black  wig  over  Miriam's 
hair. 

Hut  her  golden  locks  were  too  abundant  and  silky  ; 
the  wig  would  fall  off. 

"Well,  it  can't  be  helped!'"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Holmes.  "Just  let  down  your  own  h;uv;  the 
composer  will  have  to  be  satisfied  with  a  hhuid 
ghost,  after  all !  " 

Miriam  hurried  into  place.  She  threw  back  h(>r 
head,  clasped  hei'  hands  rigidly,  and  half  closed 
her  eyes  as  the  stage  moonlight  was  thrown  upon 
her  white  face— the  face  of  her  dead  motlier! 

"  Too  bad  we  can't  notify  Selma  of  the  change,  " 
thought  Mr.  Holmes. 

Soon  the  signal  was  given,  and  the  "  apparition" 
slowly  rose  to  view  on  the  stage.  The  contrabass- 
ist  and  drummer  were  watching  from  the  orches- 
tra as  the  soprano  turned  toward  tho  "  phantom." 
They  saw  her  give  a  sudden  gasp,  and  then  pass 
her  hands  before  her  as  tho  to  dispel  the  illu- 
sion. She  looked  up  once  again,  trembling  in 
every  muscle;    her  lips  moved  as  tho    to  speak, 

314 


NO 

ho  heai'il  that 

I   it  so  often,  I 

le  hurried  Mir- 
[  her  face  at  tha 
e  vicinity  had  a 
;  over  Miriam's 

adant  and  silky ; 

exclaimed  ^Iv. 
own  iKiiv;  the 
d  with  a  /i/nii(l 

threw  back  lior 
luul  half  closed 
as  thrown  upon 
id  niot);cr! 
of  the  change,  " 

lie  "  apparition" 
The  conlrabass- 
rom  the  orches- 
tho  "phantom." 
,  and  then  pass 
dispel  the  illu- 
n,  trembling  in 
i  the    to  speak, 


The   contrjbassist  and  drur^^mer  were  watching  from  the  orchestra,' 


SELMA  THE  SOl'RANO 

but  110  sound  escaped  them.  Suddenly  slie  threw 
up  her  arms  and  fell  prone  upon  the  floor. 

As  the  curtain  descended  the  drummer  shrugged 
his  shoulders.  "Overdone!  "  he  exclaimed.  "In 
striving  to  be  original  she  has  been  unnatural. 
Why  didn't  she  scream  properly  and  fall  artisti- 
cally?" 

They  again  left  their  instruments  and  went  back 
of  the  curtain. 

As  they  reached  the  scene  tliey  saw  Mr.  Holmes 
step  up  to  the  fallen  prima  donna  and  take  her 
hand  to  assist  her  in  rising. 

They  saw  him  suddenly  drop  the  hand  and  fran- 
tically turn  her  face  toward  him.  Then  he  stag- 
gered back  with  a  cry  of  horror. 

Selma  the  Soprano  was  dead ! 


245 


r' 


r 


At  the  End  of 
His  Rope 

By 

Florence  M.  Kingsley 


Illustrations 

By 

C.  H.  Warren 


247 


I; 


AT  THE  EXI)  OF  iU^  ROPE 


PAllT  I. 

Mk.  1'kucy  Alokr.vox  Smith,  familiarly  known 
as  "  Cinnamon  "  Smith,  thru.st  his  hands  deeper 
into  his  trousers  pockets.  "I  am  not  going, "  he 
remarked  with  an  air  of  decision. 

"  Not  going!  "  cried  the  joint  proprietors  of  Lone 
Tine  Camp  in  a  chorus.     "  Not  going!     Why?  " 

Mr.  Smith  vouchsafed  no  immediate  reply;  ho 
had  fixed  an  experienced  eye  upon  the  coffee-pot, 
wliicli  at  the  moment  threatened  to  inundate  the 
camp-fire  with  its  furious  contents.  "  Here  you, 
Jako,"  he  said  peremptorily;  "  the  coffee's  boiling 
over!  " 

The  campers  at  Lone  ]*ino  were  on  the  point  of 
starting  out  for  au  all-day's  fishing  excursion  up 
Sunday  brook.  It  may  as  well  be  explained  right 
here  that  the  party  consisted  of  four  nndergradu- 
atPs  of  C University  who  were  temporarily  pur- 
suing their  education  in  the  bracing  air  of  the  Adi- 
rondacks. 

That  these  young  gentlemen  were  thus  studi- 
219 


\t 


AT  Til  10  KND  OK   HIS  IK  H'E 

ously  engaged  during  that  portion  of  tlu"  year  ooni- 
monly  exempt  from  mental  i>ursiiits,  argues  noth- 
ing.    Great  minds  have  ever  been  remarkahlc  for 
concentration  of  purpose;    and  everybody  knows 
that  the  late  football,  rowing,  and  bicycle  soav.us 
were  of  unusual  and  engrossing  interest.     It  is  lO 
bo  hoped  that  a  future  and  more  eidightened  gen- 
eration will  so  arrange  the  dull  and  comparatively 
unimportant  scholastic  pursuits  that  they  shall  not 
clash  with  live   interests.     In  a  word— to  quote 
from  their  own  forceful,  if  inelegant  phraseology 
—Messrs.  "  Cinnamon  '"  Smith,  "  Piggy  "  Brewster, 
"  Herodotus  "  Jones,  and  "  Tommy  "  Tettigrew  Lad 
been  "  plucked '■  in  their  examinations,   and  were 
now  "cramming"   with  more  or  less  enthusiasm 
and  diligence  under  the   able  direction  of  Prof. 
John  Gearing. 

Mr.  Smith's  announcement  occasioned  consider- 
able badinage  of  a  personal  and  even  damaging 
nature,  all  of  which  was  received  by  that  young 
n.an  with  commendable  stoicism  and  equanimity. 
'•Cin's  lazy!"  drawled_  "Piggy  "  Brewster,  as 
he  ensconced  himself  comfortably  in  the  stern  of 
the  boat,  armed  with  the  lightest  paddle. 

"Cinnamon's  going  to  write  to  his  best  girl!  " 
shouted  Herodotus  Jones,  shying  a  mighty  quid  of 
spruce-gum  at  the  auburn  head  of  the  young  gentle- 
man on  the  shore.  "  Do  it  in  poetry  on  birch-bark, 
old  boy !    Little  wavelets  a-kissiu'  the  beach ;  green 

250 


iiorE 


AT  THE  END  OF  HIS  ROPE 


of  tlu'  year  corn- 
its,  avgucH  iioth- 
i  vemai'kahlc  for 
vorybody  knows 

bicycle  spah'ins 
nterest.  It  is  lO 
enlightened  gen- 
id  comparatively 
at  they  shall  not 

word— to  quote 
jant  phraseology 
Mggy  "  Brewster, 
y  "  I'ettigrew  had 
ations,   and  were 

less  enthusiasm 
irection  of  Prof. 

■asioned  consider- 
l  even  damaging 
3d  by  that  young 

and  equanimity, 
gy  "  Brewster,  as 
y  in  the  stern  of 
,  paddle. 

;o  his  best  girl!  " 
;  a  mighty  quid  of 

the  young  gentle- 
itry  on  birch-bark, 
i'  the  beach ;  green 


leaves  all  whisi)erin'  of  thee;  my  heart  a-tremblin' 
with  rapture  at  the  call  of  tlie  lone  loon  across  the 
moonlit  waters!     Hey,  Ciu?" 

"  Aw— get  along  with  you !  "  growled  the  recip- 
ient of  these  graceful  sallies.  "  I'm  gnin^  to  bono 
all  day  on  Greek— that's  what  I'm  Kuing  to  do." 

A  burst  of  derisive  laughter  greeted  this  saying. 
Then  the  boat  shot  out  into  the  sparkling  waters  of 
Beaver  lake,  and  speedily  disappeared  behind  the 
wooded  ishuid. 

Left  to  himself,  it  appeared  that  Mr.  Smith  had 
not  remained  behind  to  indulge  in  solitary  ease, 
for  no  sooner  did  the  last  echo  of  oars  and  voices 
die  away  than  he  fell  to  work  with  extraordinary 
energy  and  diligence.  Ho  swept  out  the  camp — 
being  not  over-particular  as  to  corners— gathering 
in  the  process  a  goodly  heap  of  bacon-rinds,  egg- 
shells, ^oru  paper,  and  tin  cans,  whi(!h  he  bestowed 
in  the  bushes.  A  motley  array  of  old  shoes  of 
various  sizes,  four  and  one-half  pairs  of  ragged 
socks,  a  nondescript  assortment  of  parti-colorcd 
garments  in  various  stages  of  dilapidation  were 
retired,  in  company  with  the  camp  frying-pan,  to 
a  dark  corner  under  the  bunks,  this  position  being 
further  defended  by  an  artistic  arrangement  of  bal- 
sam boughs.  As  a  finishing  touch,  two  pairs  of 
muddy  trousers,  a  half-emptied  tin  of  condensed 
milk— to  the  wrath  and  discomfiture  of  an  indus- 
trious swarm  of  Adirondack  flies — and  three  dog- 

251 


AT  THE  END  UF  1 1  IS  UOVK 

eared  novels  followed  the  bacon- rinds  into  the  com- 
fortable obscurity  of  the  hucklebery-bnshcs. 

Mr.  Smith  paused  long  enough  to  wipe  his 
heated  brow.  "It  looks  pretty  slick,"  he  mur- 
mured apjirovingly.  "And  now  for  the  grub; 
girls  are  always  lunigry." 

A  rapid  but  thoughtful  investigation  of  the  camp 
cupboard  ensued,  with  the  following-named  results : 
item  two  small  and  somewhat  wi/.enfc'd  lemons; 
item— one  damp  and  dubious  paper  bag,  containing 
ginger-snaps  minus  the  snap;  item— one  box  of 
marshmallows. 

'•The  lemonade'll  be  on  the  Runday-school-i)ic- 
nio  order,"  meditated  the  yonth,  as  ho  surveyed 
these  tempting  articles  with  a  doubtful  grimace; 
"  and  the  less  said  about  the  snaps  the  better ;  but 
they'll  cotton  to  the  marshmallows  all  right.— Jeru- 
salem crickets !  there  they  are  now,  t'other  side  of 
the  lake,  and  I  haven't  even  washed  my  hands!  " 

Exactly  seven  minutes  later,  ]\Ir.  Percy  Alger- 
non Smith,  arrayed  in  a  golf  suit  of  the  latest 
fashionable  out  and  an  immaculate  flannel  shirt, 
set  off  by  a  necktie  of  flaming  red — which,  he  flat- 
tered himself,  subdued  the  tint  of  his  auburn  locks 
to  a  positive  brown — sauntered  jauntily  down  to 
the  boat-landing. 

"  How  de  do,  ^liss  Daisy !  (Jove,  but  she's  a 
stunner,  and  no  mistake!)  Glad  to  see  you.  Miss 
Terrill!     Won't  you  come  ashore?  " 

253 


\  ROPE 

ids  into  tlio  com- 
ry-lmshcs. 
igh    to   wipe   his 
slick,"  lie  muv- 
,v   for  the  grub; 

ition  of  the  camp 
ig-namecl  results : 
wi/,ent'd  lemons; 
',v  bag,  containing 
tern — one  box  of 

unday-school-pic- 
,  as  ho  surveyed 
.oubtful  grimace; 
s  the  better ;  but 
;  all  right. — Jeru- 
w,  t'other  side  of 
lied  my  hands! " 
]\Ir.  Percy  Alger- 
luit  of  the  latest 
ate  flannel  shirt, 
1 — which,  he  flat- 
:  his  auburn  locks 
jauntily  down  to 

rove,  but  she's  a 
,  to  see  you,  Miss 
s?" 


AT  THE  END  (>F  Ills  liol'i; 

The  elder  of  the  two  young  iiersims  in  ihv.  bout, 
hesitated;  but  the  on.i  addressi-d  an  Miss  Daisy 
was  on  her  feet  in  a  twinkling. 

'Must  for  an  instant,  Kate!"  she  said  d.'i)iera- 
tingly.  '■  What  a  sircrt  [)laco  for  a  rami)-  (nirs 
isn't  nearly  so  pretty !-- Lemonade? "  went  ou 
this  sprightly  damsel,  fanning  her  llurilud  I'aco 
with  a  big  green  fan;  "yes,  induuil,  and  it's  aw- 
fully kind  of  you  to  think  of  it,  Mr.  Smith! 
Aicu't  you  thirsty,  Kate?" 

The  person  addressed  as  Kate  looked  about  her 
tentatively.  "  It  certainly  i;^  a  vi'ry  pretty  place," 
she  said  sedately ;  "  but  wo  ou-ht  not  to  stop,  Mar- 
garet." 

''The  fellows  are  all  off  on  the  trail  to  Sunday 
brook,"  remarked  the  astute  Mr.  f'niith,  ficlting 
out  three  glasses  on  the  pine  board  which  did  duty 
as  a  table.  "They  W(;n't  Ijc  back  before  evening. 
The  old  man's  out  bug-hunting." 

"Who  is  the  old  man?"  cried  INIiss  ]\rargaret 
with  an  irrelevant  gurgle  of  laughter.  "  And  bug- 
hunting— ugh  !  Who  ever  hf  ard  of  such  a  thing !  " 
"  Oh,  I  ineaii  (icjaring!  He's  bossing  the  cram- 
ming for  exams.,"  replied  :\lr.  Smith  with  elegant 
brevity.  "Two  lumpf  of  sugar,  or  three,  :\lis3 
Daisy?" 

"Three,  please.     Is  he  married?" 
"Married!     Who— the    old   man?     Ha!    ha!— 
that's  a  good  one!     Why,   Miss  Daisy,   Gearuig 


AT  TIIK  KM)  OF  IllS  liol'H 

noviT  fveii  looks  at  aiiytliiuj,'  liut  books  and  bugH, 
uiitl  is  inort!  af laid  of  a  pretty  tjirl  than  le'd  bo  of 
a  boa  I'oustiictor!  " 

"Tho  idea!  llow  fiiniiy!  Kato,  do  look  at 
that  big  Hpool  up  there  on  the  tree!  What  is  that 
for,  Mr.  fc^niith?" 

"  That  spool?  Aw—  that's  autahi-r  of  CJcarinK's 
notions,  lb*  liki-s  to  get  otT  all  by  himself  after 
his  Imgs-- don't  want  even  a  guide  along  to  bother 
liini.  So  ho  ties  up  one  end  of  a  string  in  camp  and 
unwinds  a  monstrous  spool  as  he  goes  ah)ng.  When 
ho  gets  through  with  his  investigations  he  winds 
\ip,  and  the  string  brings  him  into  camp  again  as 
right  as  a  trivet.  See?  " 
"The  very  idea!" 

"  r.right  man!  "  chorused  the  fair  voyagers. 
''His  spools  hold  a  mile  of  string,  and  he  gener- 
ally carries  his  pockets  full  of  'em,"  pursued  Mr. 
Smith,  gallantly  presenting  a  toasted  marshniallow 
to  each  of  his  guests.  "  You  can  bet  the  fellows 
don't  raise  many  objections  to  his  travels! — I 
say,  Miss  :Margaret,"  he  added  guilelessly,  "don't 
you  Avant  some  pink  Avater-lilies?  1  know  \vhere 
there's  a  grist  of  'em, — beauties  too." 

"  You  go,  I\Iargaret,"  said  Miss  Terrill  indul- 
gently; "I'll  stop  hero  and  rest.  I'm  too  deli- 
ciously  comfortable  to  move." 

And  producing  a  volume  from  the  pocket  of  her 
jacket,  the  young  lady  settled  back  in  her  luxu- 

254 


:  books  ami  biij^s, 
rl  lliaii  I'e'd  bo  of 

iate,   do    look    at 
je!      What  is  that 


uhtT  of  (it'arinj,''3 
by  himself  after 
ilu  along  to  bother 
string  in  camp  and 
joi'S  along.  When 
,igations  he  winds 
nto  camp  again  as 


fair  voyagers, 
ing,  and  he  gener- 
em,"  pursued  Mr. 
isted  inarshniallow 
;iu  bet  tlie  ftdlows 
;o  his  travels! — I 
guilelessly,  "  don't 
!S?  1  know  where 
1  too." 

iliss  Terrill  indul- 
!st.     I'm  too  deli- 


i  the  pocket  of  her 
back  in  her  luxu- 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  canadien  de  microreproductions  historiques 


AT  THE  END  OF  Ulrf  liOl'E 

rious  chair— ^cunninijly  fiusliioiu'il  out  of  a  banol  and 
a  piece  of  burlap — with  the  air  of  an  txporiencecl 
chaperono. 

Before  proceeding  further  with  this  narrative, 
it  must  be  distinctly  understood  that  Miss  Kathe- 
riue  Terrill  was  a  young  person  in  whose  veins 
ran  certain  saving  streanrs  of  genuine  blue  blood. 
Not  only  was  she  a  colonial  dame  by  virtue  of 
both  lines  of  descent,  but  through  her  maternal 
grandmother  she  was  still  further  linked  with 
greatness  in  a  manner  which  defied  question. 

To  quote  the  often-repeated  admonition  of  Mad- 
am Carter  Stockard  herself,  "  Vou  must  never  for- 
get, my  dear  Katheriue,  what  3  our  position  as  a 
descendant  of  Col.  ISrayton  Carter,  of  A'irginia, 
implies." 

"  I  should  require  a  memory  as  }ong  as  that  of 
Methuselah,  dear  grandmama,  if  I  remembered  all 
that  it  implies,"  was  the  somewhat  flippant  answer. 

"  I  am  grieved  and  astonished,  my  dear  Kather- 
ine,"  once  remarked  ]\Iiss  Penelope  Scidmoro, 
principal  of  the  Scidmore  Select  School  for  Young 
Ladies,  "  to  learn  that  you,  a  young  person  of  the 
most  admirable  birth  and  breeding,  should  for  one 
moment  have  countenanced  such  a  breach  of  the 
proprieties!  "  Miss  Scidmore  had  made  the  pain- 
ful discovery  that  certain  of  her  "  select  "  young 
ladies,  under  the  leadership  of  IMiss  Terrill,  had 
walked  out  of   the  protecting  walls  of  the  S.  S. 

255 


AT  THE  KNl)  OK  JUS   KOl'E 

S.  V.  L.  u-it/ioiit  a  c/iaperonr;  and  that,  tliua 
alone  and  uiiin-otectcd,  they  had  pressed  into  serv- 
ice a  team  uf  horsis  aiul  an  emirty  hay-wagon 
whieh  they  found  ou  a  side  street,  and  had  actu- 
ally taken  a  ride  therein  through  the  principal 
stn^et  of  the  little  town,  to  the  consternation 
(when  he  saw  them)  of  the  old  farmer  who  owned 
the  wagon,  and  to  the  still  greater  cousteniation 
(when  she  heard  of  it)  of  :\liss  Scidmore. 

"  l\7i>/,"  continued  that  lady  in  impassioned 
tones,  "have  you  thus  forgotten  what  is  due  to 
yourself  and  your  family?  " 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know,  Miss  Scidmore," 
Katherine  had  replied  with  honest  contrition;  "I 

I  just  did  it  I  ■'     ]''y  which  it  will  be  seen  that 

this  young  lady  of  high  birth  was,  ou  occasion, 
as  much  the  sport  of  freakish  iuii>ulse  as  Ratio 
0'  I'larity,  the  daughter  of  the  gardener  at  liraytou 
manor.  All  this  by  v.'ay  of  explanation— tho  it  is 
in  no  sense  an  excuse— for  what  ij  to  follow. 

The  day  was  -warm,  as  has  been  intimated,  and 
the  claims  of  "  The  Scarlet  Doom  "  on  the  interest 
of  the  reader  wavered  after  a  little.  Historical 
novels,  dealing  witli  the '  sanguinary  past  from  a 
cold-blooded  Anu'rican  standpoint,  were  decidedly 
cut  of  place— thought  this  sapient  yomig  person— 
amid  the  fresh,  breezy  wilds  of  the  Adironilacks. 
She  dropped  the  book,  to  fix  hrr  undivided  atten- 
tion upon  the  antics  of  a  pair  of  squirrels  which 

250 


IS  i;oi'W 


AT  THE  ENJ)  OF  HIS  ROPE 


;  find  that,  thua 
[  pressed  into  spi'v- 
em^rty  hay-wagon 
3et,  and  had  aotu- 
mgh  the  iirincipal 
the  eoiistcrnalion 
farn'.cr  wlio  owned 
'ater  consternation 
■^cidmore. 

ly   in    impassioned 
in   what  is  dne  to 

Miss  Scidmore," 
lest  Ciinti'ition;  "  I 
t  will  be  seen  that 
was,  on  occasion, 
impulse  as  Katie 
lardener  at  l^raytou 
[tlanation— Iho  it  is 
t  i.i  to  follow. 
)eeu  intimated,  and 
m  "  on  the  interest 
,  little.  Historical 
uinary  past  from  a 
lint,  were  decidedly 
ent  young  person — 
if  the  Adirondacks. 
rr  undivided  atten- 
of  squirrels  which 


were  frisking  iu  primal  gladness  from  bou^h  to 
bough  of  the  big  pine.  Her  eyes  followed  them 
with  a  eertain  distinct  satisfaction  iu  the  lawless 
freedom  of  these  creatures  of  the  wilderness,  whose 
ancestors  cast  no  chilliug  shadow  upon  the  joyous 
present. 

At  this  point,  in  the  course  of  Jier  aimless  medi- 
tations, her  vagrant  fancy  was  again  arrested  by 
the  big  spool  dangling  by  a  scarlet  thread  from  the 
branch  just  above  her  head.  As  she  gazed  at  tliis 
simple  object,  Miss  Terrill  completely  forgot  her 
position  in  society  and  the  august  character  of 
her  lineage.  After  full  five  minutes  of  retlectiou, 
which — as  suljSdpient  events  jiroved — might  have 
beer-  spent  to  better  advantage,  the  descendant  of 
the  Brayton  Carters  deliberately  stood  up  on  her 
chair  and  detached  the  big  spool  from  its  position. 

"This  is  a  cobweb  party, '' she  said  solemnly; 
"  the  scientific  old  professor  and  his  box  of  bugs  is 
the  prize."  With  that,  this  idel  of  all  the  pro- 
prieties "  begar  to  walk  away  into  the  woods,  wind- 
ing up  the  scarlet  cor<l  as  she  went. 

From  fragrant,  lovz-dropping  balsam  to  white- 
limbed  birch;  from  sunny  knoll,  crowded  with 
purple-fruited  huckleberries,  to  solemn  stretches 
of  forest,  where  the  winds  loitered  in  the  odorous 
branches  of  the  pines,  whispering  strange,  ancient 
secrets  of  eartii  and  sky;  th-ough  trackless  wastes 
of  sweet  fern,  where  the  gnats  bit  fiercely;  through 
17  2r,7 


JB. 


AT  THE  END  OF  HIS  ROPE 

dense  blackberry-thickets,  which  chitched  her  sav- 
agely in  tlieir  thorny  arms;  over  fallen  logs,  half 
rotted  away  and  carpeted  deep  with  softest  emerald 
mosses ;  past  swampy  spots,  where  the  trim  boots 


FObLOWISli    TllK    STMIOl, 

sank  ankle  deep  in  the  black  mud,— deeper  and 
deeper  into  the  pathless  wilderness  led  the  slender 
clue. 

"  It's  simply  barrels  of  fun !  "  sighed  the  bold 
2.J8 


IS  ROPE 

li  clutched  her  sav- 
T  fallen  logs,  half 
ith  softest  emerald 
lere  the  trim  boots 


mud, — deeper   and 
ness  led  the  slender 

!  "  sighed  the  bold 


AT  TIIK  KM)  UK   II  IS  1,'OPK 

adventurer,  lapsing  into  tlie  canij)  vernacular,  as 
she  sank  breathless  on  to  a  bank  to  rest,  "but  -I 
believe  I'll  go  back  without  my  prize.  It  must  be 
nearly  dinner-time." 

Slie  reached  out  after  a  sprig  of  wintergreen, 
where  gay  scarlet  berries  glimmered  like  live  coals 
amid  the  overarching  ferns,  her  brown  cheeks  dim- 
pling as  she  reflecited  upon  the  undoubted  conster- 
nation of  the  water-lily  hunters.  Then  she  sprang 
to  her  feet  with  an  air  of  decision.  "  I  must  go 
back  at  once;  Ave  ought  n-'*-  to  have  stopped 
at  all." 

Slie  glanced  down  at  the  bulky  form  of  the  big 
brown  spool,  and  the  full  extent  of  her  folly  dawned 
suddenly  upon  her.  "  How  can  I  go  back?  I've 
ti'ouml  up  the  cord!  " 

It  was  characteristic  of  this  young  person  that, 
preliminarily  to  a  careful  consideration  of  the 
question,  she  sank  down  and  laughed — till  she 
cried ;  this  to  the  great  astonishment  and  dismay 
of  divers  small  woodsfolk,  who  paused  in  the  busi- 
ness of  the  hour  to  observe  the  new  and  peculiar 
animal  which  produced  such  strange  noises. 

"I  have  come  a  mile,"  she  reflected,  sitting  up 
and  wiping  her  eyes;  "for  this  spool  is  full,  and 
number  two  hangs  in  the  bushes  yonder. " 

The  idea  of  surprising  an  elderly  student  of  sci- 
ence at  his  labors  had  been  gradually  growing  less 
and  less  attractive;  and  now  after  a  period  of  se- 


AT  THK  END  Ob'  HIS  1U)I'K 


rious  reflection  it  ceased  to  appear  eithei-  fuunj  or 
faacmatnig  in  the  slightest  deyiee. 

"He  is  undoubtedly  a  person  who  would  be 
politely,  sarcastically,  and  crushn.gly  disagreeable 
because  I.  had  venMired  to  meddle  with  his  ab.suid 
spools,  ■•  decided  ^liss  Ternll  soberly .  "I  am  very 
glad  that  I  stopped  in  time;  I  shall  have  no  trou- 
ble in  reaching  the  camp  from  this  point.  Oi 
course  f  shall  put  the  spool  exactly  where   I  found 

it." 

She  rose  slowly  to  her  feet  and  looked  medita- 
tively about  her.     "  1  came  by  that  big  tree;  I  re 
member  the  dead  branch    hanging  down    to  the 

ground." 

Ah,  foolish  maid!  keener  eyes  than  those  pretty 
brown  oiu-s  of  yours  have  been   deceived  by  the 
wonderful  likeness  ot  everything   to   every  other 
thing  iu  the  big  woods.     The  tree  with  the  dead 
branch  certainly  led  to  a  perfectly  familiar-looking 
bush;  and  the  bush  beguiled  the  weary  little  feet 
to  La  odorous  group  of  balsams,  where  bright-eyed 
squirrels  chattered   angrily  at  the  wearer  of  the 
jaunty  red  tam.     And  beyond  the  balsams  there 
was  a  cup-like  hollow  where  tiie  beautiful  deadly 
"  Fly  Amanita "  thrust  its  golden  globes  through 
the  black-leaf  mold.     Then  the  brambles  clutched 
at  her  with  their  thorny  lingers,  and  the  treacher- 
ous mud  tried  to  hold    her  away  from  the  ripe 
huckleberries.     And  all  the  whUo  the  gnats  and 

iiOO 


r 


3  KOl'K 

ir  eitbcf  fuiinj  or 

B. 

11  who  would  be 
iiigly  (haagrecahle 
Le  with  his  iib.surd 
3rly.  "  I  am  very 
lall  have  no  trou- 

I  this  point.  Of 
t)y  whure   1  found 

nd  looked  medita- 
hat  big  tree;  1  re 
;ing  down    to  the 

)  than  those  pretty 

II  deceived  by  the 
iig  to  every  other 
tree  with  tlie  dead 
ly  familiar-looking 
he  weary  little  feet 

where  bright-eyed 
the  wearer  of  the 

the  balsams  there 
le  beautiful  deadly 
ien  globes  through 

brambles  clutched 
i,  and  the  treacher- 
way  from  the  ripe 
hilo  tho  gnats  and 


AT  THE  END  (>P  HIS  HOPE 

mosquitoes  followed  hard  after — like  the  hosts  of 
an  avenging  fate. 

lUit,  yes;  it  was  all  perfectly  plain  and  not  at  all 
far,  She  would  soon  catch  a  sparkle  of  blue  water 
through  the  trees,  and  then  dinner  and  a  long, 
delicious  rest  in  the  hairniock!  Tlr.:  gruesome 
tales  of  wayfarers  k,Kt  and  starving  iu  tho  woods 
were — she  decided — simjtlv  figments  of  we.ak  and 
elderly  imaginations ;  mere  bugaboos  to  keep  small 
children  withi:-;  bounds.  Any  person  of  sound 
judgment  and  educated  po  vers  of  observation  could 
easily 

"  Gnicious I  ""  Miss  Terrill  rarely  made  use  of 
such  vulgar  exclamations,  but  th3  exigency  of  the 
occasion  wrung  it  from  her  lips.  The  spool  was 
again  empty!  She  looked  wildly  about  her;  there 
was  no  welcome  glimmer  of  blue  water,  no  perva- 
sive odor  of  a  smoky  camp-iire,  no  dinner,  no  ham- 
mock anywhere  in  sight. 

*'  Well,  there  is  only  one  thing  to  do,"  decided 
the  girl  after  a  second  poriod  of  retlection,  during 
which  the  humorous  nature  of  the  adventure  did 
not  once  recur  to  her  mind.  "  I  Avill  go  back  to 
the  second  spool  once  more,  and  try  again.  One 
can  always  do  what  one  must  do,"  she  added  sen- 
tentiously,  and  with  *  he  air  of  one  who  combats  an 
unpioasant  suggestior . 

Two  hours  later,  as  she  wearily  rotraced  her  steps 
for  the  third  time  to  the  spot  where  the  second 


AT  TIIK  KNU  OF  H!S  ROl'E 

spool  huuf,'  ill  tlie  bushes,  the  situati-.n  had  vsolved 
itself  in  hor  nii.ul  (she  had  been  a  "  spec-ial '  m 
inatheiuatics)  into  the  following  con.is.>  form: 

"  Let  A  vq.rcsent  the  cam].,  and  1'.  the  j.osition 
of  the  second  spool,  one  mile  distant  from  A. 
How  many  miles  might  a  person  travel  in  endeav- 
oring to  reach  A,  supposing  he  started  from  1!  m 
a  different  direction  each  time?  " 

"  If  the  traveler  started  out  from  B  and  traveled 
iu  a  perfectly  straight  Hue  each  time,"  she  mur- 


THE     I'KOIU.KM 

mured— a  diagram  of  the  problem  presenting  itself 
with  appalling  distinctness  before  her  mental  vi- 
sion—" he  might  easily  travel  several  huiulred  miles 
without  reaching  A.     If  ho  traveled  in  curved  lines 

—as  he  certainly  would— why " 

The  undeniable  conclusions  -were  too  harrowing 
to  contemplate  with  calmness,  therefore  Miss  Kath- 
erine  Carter  Terrill  sat  down  upon  a  mossy  log 
and   shed  tears   for   full   five  minutes.     She  be- 

203 


latioii  liail  rf'Holved 
[>n  !i  "  special  "   in 
coiicist^  form : 
and  l'>  the  ]iosition 

distant    from    A. 
1  travel  in  cndcav- 

started  from  1!  iu 

rom  li  and  traveled 
h  time,"  she  mui- 


em  presenting  itself 
fore  her  mental  vi- 
Bveral  hundred  miles 
velcd  in  curved  lines 

» 

■were  too  harrowing 
therefore  Miss  Kath- 
i  upon  a  mossy  log 
!  minutes.      She  be- 


AT  THE  END  (>F  HIS  HOPE 

held  herself,  as  it  were,  the  wandering  radiiis  of 
an  unknown  eirele,  returning  innumerahlH  times  to 
point  H,  and  at  hist  lying  cold  and  uueonscions  on 
the  forest  leaves,  the  fatal  spool  clutched  tight  in 
her  stiffened  lingers. 

"[  shall  never  find  it — never!"  she  wailed, 
grinding  tho  innocent  cause  of  her  misa(h  eiiture 
beneath  her  boot-heels.  "  But,  oh,  how  can.  I  let 
that  man  find  me,  as  he  certainly  will,  if  I  hold  on 
to  tliis  wretched  spool!  I  run't,  if  I  have  to  die 
of  slow  starvation— and  I  am  so  hu  ,-ry!  But 
suppose  I  leave  the  spool  here,  the  unsuspecting 
old  gentleman  will  wind  up  to  it,  and  then  he  will 
have  nothing  to  go  by  —not  even  point  B!  " 

A  vision  of  her  own  revered  grandparent  wan- 
dering gaunt  and  famished  through  interminable 
wastes  of  desolate  forest  tilled  her  with  a  lively 
anguish. 

"  No,  I  must  not  leave  him  to  ])erish — it  would 
be  nuirder!  "  she  said  witli  a  shudder.  "  I  will  liud 
him  and  tell  him  what  I  have  done." 

PART  II. 

John'  Gearing  glanced  hastily  over  the  closely 
written  pages  of  his  note-book  by  the  waning  light, 
snapped  tho  cover  of  his  tin  specinu^ncase  with  a 
well-satisfied  air,  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"It  must  be  getting  along  toward  sunset,"  he 
reflected,   with    a  cursory  glance   at   his   watch. 

2(i3 


AT  TIIK  KM)  OK  HIS  IJOI'E 

"Capital  day's  work,  tlio;  I  sliouldii'l  like  to 
havp  missed  that,  scailft-lifadcd  aiacluiid.  As  for 
the  colooiitcroii,  I  d<nd)t  if  it  liaa  lu'oii  f,'t'iu'rally 
repogni/fd  as  a  gi'imiuo  erotylid-  wlddi  it  uii([ue8- 
tioiiably  is." 

Ho  pausi'd  to  drop  a  full  sjiuol  into  liis  pocket 
anil  diseiif;;aK«'  an  empty  ono  from  tlie  limi)  of  a 
mi^l'ty  Hpnict",  wliich  stood  amon^'  its  fellowH 
wot'i)iug  odorous  tears  of  purest,  giiiii.  The  bug- 
liunter  eyed  it  thou^dit  fully,  a  clicerful  vision  if 
the  camp  frying-pan,  replete  with  sizzling  i^lices  if 
fragrant  bacon,  to  be  succeeded  by  along  ijrocession 
of  substantial  slajijacks,  rising  alhtrintrly  before 
him. 

"Jove!"  he  muttered,  "I  forgot  to  eat  my 
lunch!" 

The  rellections  of  the  hungry  scientist  as  he 
strode  rapidly  onward  winding  up  his  second  spool 
were  both  comfortable  and  complacent.  "  A  more 
useful  device  to  save  valuable  time  than  this  sim- 
ple system  of  spools  wa.s  never  devised,'"  lie  deci- 
ded. "  At  this  moment  I  am-  ap])roximately--one 
and  one  half  miles  from  supper;  with  no  doubtful 
trail  to  follow,  no  delays  to  jjuzzle  over  direction, 
no  uncertainty  whatever  as  to  the  exact  point  at 

which  I  shall "     Ho  stopped  short;  his  keen 

ear  had  caught  the  sound  of  crackling  branches. 

"A  deer!"  he  muttered;  "and  coming  right 
this  way !  " 

2G4 


ITS  }\()VV. 

sliouldii'l  liki"  to 
I  ai'uclinid.  As  for 
\\nH  lici'ii  f,'t'iit'r;illy 
1     which  it  uii([ue8- 

mA  into  liifl  poi'ki't 
Voui  lli(>  liiiil)  of  a 
ainoiit,'  its  fellows 
st  gimi.  Thu  bug- 
,  cliccMfiil  vision  of 
ith  sizzling  t^liocs  of 
by  along  j)ro(  ossion 
L^    allniin'-'ly   before 

forgot    t(j   Ciit  my 

^ry  scientist  as  he 
up  his  second  spool 
i])liU!cnt.  "  A  more 
time  than  this  sim- 
r  devised,'"  lie  deci- 
!ip])roximntely--one 
p;  with  no  donbtful 
izzle  over  direction, 
the  exact  point  at 
[)ed  short;  his  keen 
ackliug  branches. 
'  and    coming    right 


A'l"  'I'lli;   KM)  OK  ms   UOI'E 

Arachnida,  Coleoptera,  spools,  and  even  supijor 
were  forgot  I  I'll  on  the  instant;  and  the  biig-hunler, 
alert  and  silent,  stood  grasping  liis  ritle,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  low-growing  tangle  of  evergreens  from 
wliicli  tlie  suspicious  sounds  liad  proceeded.  A 
moment  later  and  ho  was  staring  with  nndisguiscul 
aniazenient  at  the  small  iigure  which  limped  rapidly 
toward  him. 

"  Von  are«'»^  rrofessordearing — I  am  so  ^lad!  " 
were  the  astonishing  words  with  which  tiie  appari- 
tion introduced  itself.  It  puslied  back  a  si^arlet 
tam-o'-shanter  from  a  tangle  of  brown  curls,  and 
continued:  "  I  don't  know  who  you  are,  but  I  am 
KatheriiiP  Terrill  and  I  am  lost  in  these  dreadful 
woods.  Do  take  me  homo!"  'With  that  the  lig- 
nro  sank  back  against  a  tree  with  a  sound  suspi- 
ciously like  a  sob. 

"I — I  do  not  understand,"  .stammered  the 
astounded  bug-hunter  lamely.  "  I  can  take  you 
home,  certaiidy ;  but  i  must  acknowledge  that  I  am 
John  (Jearing. " 

Tho  wearer  of  the  scarlet  tarn  started  up  with  a 
hysterical  laugh.  "  Professor  Gearing  is  an  old 
man!  "  she  cried,  "and  i/»ii—  you  are  quite— quite 
yomigl  I  took  his  spool  out  of  tho  camp,  and  I 
can't  find  the  way  back!  " 

"The  spool — eh!     You  don't  mean " 

"  Yes,  I  do.  I  took  it  and  wound  it  up  to  point 
1>— I  mean  the  second  spool,"  faltered  the  mis- 

3(i0 


AT  THE  END  t>l"  HIS  KOPE 

chief-maker,  lier  clu  tks  dyed  with  peuitent  bhishes. 
'•  i_[  v.-as  stopping  at  the  cainp,  you  see,  fur  a 
few  monionts  with  a  frii-iid,  and  1  saw  the  spool 
I  can't  tell  you  why  1  did  it."  This  last  with  a 
vain  clutrh  after  her  vanished  dignity.     "  It— it 

jnsc  occurred  1o  me  that  it  might  he " 

'•I  lunig  that  empty  spool  there  merely  as  a  tag 
at  the  end  of  my  string,"  remarked  John  (learing 

meditatively.     "  I  certainly " 

"  Say  anything  you  like  to  lue,"  interrupted  Miss 
Terrill  solemnly ;  "  I  deserve  it.  We  shall  never 
get  home  alive — never!  " 

Jo'ui  Gearing  stared  at  the  speaker  for  a  full 
minu:  -,  then  he  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed 
long  and  loud.  "  I- 1  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Ter- 
rill," he  said  at  length;  "but  really " 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  nmy  laugh!  "  saiil  the  young  lady 
with  an  in.lignant  shrug.  "I  laughed  too  -  at 
first.  I'.ut  It  hasn't  seemed  a  bitfunuy  for  at  least 
six  hours.  I  tell  you  we  mn't  get  back!  We 
shall    starve    to    death;     and    it's— it's     getting 

dark!" 

The  bug-huuter  was  sobered  in  an  instant  by  the 
pitiful  quiver  in  the  tired  voice. 

'•  Vou  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  have  been  wan- 
dering about  since  morning  with  nothing  to  eat?" 
he  asked  anxiously. 

"  Nothing  but  huckleberries— and  1  loathe  huck- 
leberries! " 

20() 


Ills  KOPE 

iUi  penitent  liluslies. 
uiip,  you  see,  fi)i-  a 
ml  1  saw  the  spool. 
,."  'riiia  last  with  a 
hI  dignity.     "  It— it 

L;ht  be " 

here  merely  as  a  tag 
larked  John  Cearing 

ue,"  interrupted  Miss 
it.     We  shall  never 

le  speaker  for  a  full 
liis  head  and  laughed 
)ur  pardon,  Miss  Ter- 

veally " 

'  saiil  the  young  lady 

"  I  laughed  too  -  it 
.  bit  funny  for  at  least 
un'f  get  back!  We 
id    it's— it's     getting 

d  in  an  instant  by  the 

Lce. 

at  you  have  been  wan- 

ifith  nothing  to  eat?  " 

■s — and  1  loathe  huck- 


AT  THE  END  OK  }IIS  Uoi'K 

John  Ciear!!<sj:  b'^stily  swung  his  pack-basket  to 
tho  ground.  "  The^ie  sandwiches  "—producing  a 
parcel  of  dubious  aspect—"  have  suffered  somewhat, 
I  fear,  knocking  about  all  day  anutng  my  trups; 
but  if  you  will  accept  them " 

"They  look  perfectly  delicious!"  declared  the 
young  lady  with  unconcealed  delight.  "  ItiiL  I  shall 
eat  only  one,— it  i:5  just  possiijle,  you  know,  that 
we  might— in  time " 

"  I  beg  that  you  will  give  yourself  no  further  anx- 
iety on  that  score!"  cried  John  Gearing  confi- 
dently. "  We  arc  only  a  trifle  over  a  mile  from 
camp;  we'll  bo  t.iere  inside  of  an  hour." 

The  girl  shook  her  head  mournfully.  "  That  we 
are  so  near  is  just  the  nu)st  dreadful  part  of  it,"" 
she  said,  winking  rapidly  1o  keep  back  two  big 
tears  which  were  trying  hard  to  pass  the  l)arrier 
of  her  long  lashes.  "  I'.ut  if  you  really  think  you 
can  find  the  way,  do  let  us  start  at  once.  Of 
course  we  can  reach  the  second  spool,"  she  added. 
"I_I  was  frightened  when  1  saw  how  late  it  was 
growing,  so  I  came  to  meet  you.  1  thought  it  was 
my  duty  to— to  tell  you " 

John  Gearing  surveyed  the  speaker  in  puzzled 
silence.  "Do  you — er— mind  telling  me,""  he 
burst  out  aflcr  a  long  pause,  during  which  the 
stealthy  twilight  made  [lerceptible  advances,  "  what 
—that  is — why  you  were  so  sure  that  1  was  some- 
body else— at  first,  you  know?  " 

267 


AT  Tiir:  EXD  OF  HIS  iioi'i-: 


"  ^Yhat  must  you  think  of  me!  "  pxclaimed  Miss 
Ten-ill  irrelevantly,  stoi)piug  short  in  the  luidst  of 
a  vicious  tangle  of  blackberry-bushes  for  no  other 
purpose,  it  appeared,  than  to  wring  her  small 
hands.  "  Tt  has  all  been  so  dreadful  that  I  haven't 
realized  fhaf.'  You  must  think  me  bold  and  med- 
dlesome and— and  generally  horrid!  " 

"  I  have  thought  nothing  of  the  lind!  "  retorted 
the  bug-hunter  with  unnecessary  warmth.  "  It  was 
all  the  fault  of  those  infernal  spools!  I  wouldn't 
mind  this'"— with  a  comi>rehpnsivo  wave  of  the 
hand  which  seemed  to  include  all  the  hostile  forces 
of  nature—"  if  it  were  rot  for  you.  I  should  get 
into  camp  all  right,  s.nnetnne;  but " 

"  You  may  think  so,  but  you  couldn't,"  said  the 
girl  with  a  pitying  glance  at  the  stalwart  figure. 
"  It  will  be  all  the  harder  for  you  to  bear ;  and 
when  T  think  that  I  did  it -that  it.  is  all  my  fault! 
But  of  course  I  didn't  think— I  could  never  have 
imagined— what  a  fatal  thing  T  was  doing  when  I 
touched  that  spool.  No,  wait  till  I  have  told  yon 
all."  ^Yith  that  she  poured  forth  the  tale  of  the 
day's  adventures,  closing  with  a  statement  of  the 
problem  which  she  had  spent  six  unhappy  hours 
in  trying  to  solve. 

"Don't  }ou  see,"  she  said  iu  a  shaking  voice, 
"  how  utterly  improbable  it  is  that  we  shall  erer 
reach  jioint  A?  " 

John  (Searing  had  smiled  more  than  once  during 
26H 


IS  UOi'K 


AT  TJIE  END  OF  HIS  KOl'l-: 


!  "  exclaimed  Miss 
lurt  ill  ihe  midst  of 
b\islies  for  no  other 
)  wring  her  small 
idfuUliat  I  haven't 
c  me  bold  and  med- 
rrid!  " 

,1x6  1diid!  "  retorted 
■f  warmth.  '"  It  was 
spools!  I  wouldn't 
'nsivo  wave  of  the 
,11  the  hostile  forces 
you.     I  should  get 

but " 

couldn't,"  said  the 
the  stalwart  tiguro. 
•  you  to  bear;  and 
it  it  is  all  my  fault! 
1  could  never  have 
T  was  doing  when  I 
till  I  have  told  you 
orth  the  tale  of  the 
a  statement  of  the 
six  unhappy  hours 

iu  a  shaking  voice, 
i  that  we  shall  ei'er 

are  than  once  during 


this  recital;  he  also  frownt-d  as  he  stared  anx- 
iously into  the  black  depths  of  the  forest  which 
shut  them  in  like  a  wall. 

"Miss  Terrill,"  he  s;iid  gravely,  "your  conclu- 
sions are  uudeniul)ly  logical  and  unpleasantly  cor- 
rect^ from  your  jiremises;  but  luckily  there  are 
other  factors  which  you  have  overlooked,  and  which 
must  be  introduced.  ( )ne  is,  that  the  guides  are  sure 
to  beat  the  woods  for  miles  about  point  A.  There  is, 
therefore,  not  the  slightest  danger  of  our  hecoming 
eitlier  variable  or  permanent  radii  of  point  B.  The 
only  question  to  be  considered  at  present  is,  shall 
wo  make  any  immediate  attempt  to  soIvm  \\\v-.  piuh- 
lem  ourselves?     You  are  alre:idy  weary,  and " 

''You  might  attach  a  second  spool  at  point  1',"' 
interrupted  the  girl,  Knittin;^'  her  pretty  brows; 
"our  chances  would  then  be  multiplied  by  two." 

'•  Ihit  1  object  to  the  i]rcliniiuaiy  division,"  said 
.I(.hn  (icaring  decidedly;  "it  simiily  isn't  to  be 
thought  of.  Tiie  darkn"ss  ins  closed  iu  upon  us 
at  an  unconsciunaidy  early  hour,"  he  went  on  rap- 
idly.     "  I  can  not  understand  it,  unless,  to  add  to 

our  perplexity,    it  is  aliout  to "     A    drop  of 

water  which  landed  s(piarely  on  the  ti[>  ■  f  his  nose 
explained  the  phenomcmm. 

"It  is  raining,"  observed  Miss  Terrill  with  the 
calmness  of  despair.  "  l'>iit  of  course  that  was  to 
be  expected.  We  will  go  on,"  she  added  firmly. 
'•  No  —I  am  not  at  all  tired,  and  I  am  quite  accus- 

2«'J 


AT  THE  END  (»F  HIS  KOl'E 

toiiRHl  to  the  woods."     Tliis  la.st  with  a  sui)erb  ges- 
ture of  refusal  as  her  victim  ottered  his  arm. 

Two  luiiuitcfi  hitcr  lier  foot  slipped  on  a  treach- 
erous log,  and  with  a  cry  she  plunged  forward  into 
the  darkness. 

John  Geaiing  was  at  her  sid(^  in  an  instant. 
"My  poor  little  girl,"  he  murmured,  lifting  her 
with  all  possible  gentleness,  "  are  you  much  hurt?  " 

"At  all  events  I  have  not  sprained  my  ankle," 
said  the  girl  with  a  faint  laugh.  "  liul  I  slipped 
once  before  to-day,  and 

,Iohn  (icaring  groaned.  "  I  shall  never  forgive 
myself  for  my  outrageous  fully !  "  he  declared  sav- 
agely, and  qui^e  involuntarily  he  tightened  the 
clasp  of  his  strong  arms. 

Miss  Terrill  laughed  again  in  spite  of  herself. 
"I'ut  me  duwti,  jilease,  Mr.  (iearing,"  she  said. 
''  If  you  should  change  most  of  the  pronouns  in 
your  last  statement  to  the  second  person,  it  would 
be  (juito  what  I  deserve.  J  fear  I  shall  liave  to 
stop  where  1  am ;  but  you  must  go  on.  Please  go 
at  once  before  it  gits  any  darker." 

"  And  leave  you  here  alone?  " 

"Yes." 

By  way  of  answer,  John  (iearing  hastily  divested 
himself  of  his  thick  shooting-jacket  and  wrappe;' 
it  about  his  comp.mion  with  an  authoritative  firm- 
ness which  admitted  of  no  question. 

"I  have  four  matches — and  a  half,  to  bo  exact," 
270 


US  KOl'E 

it  with  a  8Ui)erb  ges- 
feied  his  aim. 
slipped  oil  a  ticach- 
iluuged  foiwaid  into 

Kid(^  in  an  instant, 
iriimred,  lifting  her 
irt'  you  much  hurt?  " 
iprained  my  ankle," 
fli.     "  iiiii  I  slipped 

shall  never  forgive 

!  "  lie  declared  sav- 

y  he    tightened   the 

in  spite  of  herself. 
Clearing, "'  she  said. 
of  the  pronouns  iii 
ond  jierson,  it  would 
ear  I  shall  have  to 
it  go  on.  riease  go 
Lcr." 


iring  hastily  divested 
jacket  and   wrappe;' 
n  authoritative  firm- 
'stion. 
a  half,  to  be  exact," 


AT  Till':  ILM)  (>!■'  ins  IIOI'K 


lid  siiitl,  after  aciirtMiil  scarcli  tliiougli  lii.s  various 
ii'pckets.  ''  Luckily  il.  hasn't  raiiic'l  hiug  cnonu'li  U> 
wvi  tlio  gniuud;  if  tlm  fuU'3  aren't  tun  unkind 
\vt;"ll  have  a  canip-liie  insido  of  livo  iiiinutos." 

A  flash,  a  si/./le,  an  inipaticut  exclamation  an- 
nounced that  match  nuinlicr  one  had  woakly  suc- 
cuniliedto  tlio  untoward  inllacncesof  tKo  jilaco  and 
hour.  Two,  three,  and  four  followed  v.  ith  dis- 
lieartciiint,'  unaniiniiy,  duriuf;  intervals  plainly 
occupied  ill  a  frantic  search  for  dryer  material. 

••  If  you  only  li;id  some  paper,"  ventured  a  timid 
voice  out  'if  tlu!  darkne^ -. 

"(tf  course!  Thank  heaven  you  reininded  uie 
before  T  struck  tliat  last  lialf-match!  " 

Another  moment,  and  a  score  of  closely  written 
pages  treating  learnedly  of  the  eoleoptera  and 
arachnida  of  the  great  northi-ii.  wilderness  were 
blazing  merrily  in  tho  midst  of  a  skilftdly  construct- 
ed pile  of  twigs  and  branches. 

"  Wasn't  it  fortunate  j'ou  I'.appened  to  have  that 
paper?  "  observed  Miss  Terrill,  as  she  leaned  for- 
ward to  warm  her  chilled  fingers  at  the  now  thor- 
oughly established  fire. 

"Fouunate!"  echoed  John  Gearing,  dropping 
his  specimen-box  as  ho  stooped  to  lay  another  stick 
on  the  fire — whereat  tho  scarlet-headed  arachnid 
and  the  c(deoi)tera,  one  and  all,  wriggled  out  and 
away  with  joyful  l);isto.  "It  was  by  all  odds  the 
most  fortunate  thhig  I  1  now  of." 

271 


AT  TllK  KM)  '>F   lllS   Itnl'E 

"Terluips  yen  will  think  me  a  cowanl,"'  begun 
tho  gul,  after  a  luolouged  praise  which  the  lam- 
.Uups  filled  with  a  soft,  i-.siste.it  uiunuuv.  '  Uo 
V,ai  think  it  would  I"-'  very  wn.ng  for  me-  that  is, 

for  you "     Sl'O  t""^ed  her  head  away  from  the 

s..iirching  firelight  as  she  continued  in  so  low  a 
voice  thai  John  Gearing  was  forced  to  hvud  hi8 
tali  head  to  listen-  "if  they  find  us?  You  Ha>d 
they  would  seanh  for  u.s?  "  ,    x-    , 

'•Th(-y  will  seaveh  for  us     certainly,   and  find 

"'■"  If  they  know  -  that  is,  if  you-if-T  must  tell 
them  that  I  took  the  spool  to-to  find  you,  I  could 
not  face  them-  1  could  not  bear  it !  " 

'•  Ah,  but  the  fact  is  that  1  found  you!      said 
John  Gearing  in  his  deepest  \oice. 
I.  Yes— but— the  spools'.  " 

The  hug-hunter  leaned  forward  and  deliberately 
dropi-ed  a  full  half  dozen  of  them  into  the  red  heart 

of  the  fire. 

"There  are  no  spools,"  he  f.aid  calmly. 

A  more  unpleasant  9p6t  than  the  virgin  forest 
of  theAdiroudacks  on  a  wet  night  it  would  be  diiti- 
cult  to  find.     Mr.  Percy  Algernon  Smith  put  this 

fact  more  forcibly ;  he  sai.l •     15ut  why  rei^^at 

the'words  of  a  man  who  has  forced  his  way  through 
some  six  or  eight  miles  of  soaking  coves,  pursued 
all  the  way  by  jubilant  throngs  of  mosquitoes- his 


i  cowanl,"  begun 
«  wliich  tlie  laiu- 
t  muniuiv.  "  Do 
r  for  me—  that  is, 
iad  away  from  the 
med  in  so  low  a 
)rccil  to  bond  his 
id  us?      Vou  said 

crtainly,   and   lind 

u if — T  mnst  tell 

o  find  yon,  I  could 
it!" 
found  you !  "  said 

ice. 

,rd  and  deliberately 
in  into  the  red  heart 

id  calmly. 

lu  the  virgin  forest 
;lit  it  would  be  dilii- 
•non  Smith  put  this 
-.  But  why  rejjeat 
ced  his  way  through 
king  coves,  pursued 
i  of  mosquitoes— his 


AT  TlIK  END  OF  HIS  liol'P: 

energies  l)eing  still  furtlier  taxed  by  laborious  and 
systematic  performances  on  a  liig  tin  horn? 

••  I  say,  Jake,"  lie  bawled,  T>ausing  after  a  suc- 
cession of  ear-splitting  blasts,  "  I'ye  hear  any- 
thing?" 

Tlie  guide  nodded.  "To  the  west  on  us," 
he  said,  jerking  his  thuml)  over  his  sliouhler. 
"  'Tain't  fur,  neither." 

The  sagacious  reader  has  already  divined  that 
this  is  only  the  beginning  of  the  storv.  Its  ending 
was  after  the  old,  old  fusliion,  of  which  wise  peo- 
ple the  world  over  nevei  grow  tired,  and  which  in 
truth  is  the  end  -or  the  beginning  of  every  story 
that  is  at  all  worth  the  telling.  In  this  place  it 
must  bo  set  down  in  just  four  words— afterward 
they  were  married. 

ft  w.<3  my  good  fortune,  not  many  months  later, 
to  ue.\r  Mrs.  John  Gearing  relate  the  above  ronuiu- 
tic  circumstances,  whi'.h  she  did  with  the  prettiest 
smiles  and  blushes  imaginable. 

In  closing  she  declared  solemnly  that  never  in 
all  the  course  of  her  existence  had  such  a  welcome, 
glad,  cl-.eerful,  happy,  enlivening,  and  altogether 
delightful  vision  greeted  her  ejes,  as  the  round, 
freckled  face  of  "Cinnamon"  Smith  as  he  burst 
through  the  dripping  branches  on  that  rainy  August 
night. 

B-  •■  she  never  so  nnieh  as  mentioned  the  spools; 
it  was  their  ashes  that  told  the  tale. 

18  '^ra 


'i1»iB'i  • 


The  Easter 

of  La  Mercedes 

By 

Mary  C.  Francis 

Illustration 

By 

Freeland  A.  Carter 


275 


JL 


Till']  KASTKIl  OV  LA  MKIICKDKS 


CllAITKli  I. 

It  was  Kiister  iiioiiiing  of  IS'.l.'i  in  tlm  city  of 
rui'iU)  rriufipf.  Since  early  mass  at  four  o'clock 
the  i)oi)ulace  liiul  been  astir  in  the  grim  old  city, 
aii'l  hour  by  honr  the  throng  had  increased  as  the 
time  for  the  great  procession  t)  leave  the  Iglcsla 
Mayor  approaclicd,  until  now  t'lO  narrow  streets 
were  janinied  witliacrowd  tli:it  tilled  every  avenue. 

The  worshipers  were  on  their  way  to  the  ( liurch 
to  swell  the  parade  as  tlie  risen  C^irist  was  borne 
forth  to  lead  tiio  way  to  La  Mercedes,  and  llicy 
were  in  holiday  aitire;  for  of  all  the  religions  feast 
days  of  the  church,  that  of  the  resurrection  is  the 
most  imposing.  Over  the  Moorish  towers  of  T^a 
Mercedes  the  sun  streamed  brightly  into  tiic 
crooked,  ill-paved  liyways  a;id  glinted  ominously 
on  the  sword-hilt  of  a  Spanish  colonel. 

In  the  cool  shadow  3  of  gray  walls  some  negresses, 
gaudily  tricked  out,  slouched  impudently,  their 
slippered  feet  sliding  loosely  over  the  stones  and 
their  gay  garments  splotched  against  the  neutral 
background  like  daubs  of  paint  on  a  canvas. 

277 


TJIE  KASTER  OF  LA  MERCEDES 


The  scene  was  curiously  like  a  play ;  a  shifting 
panorama  of  color,  light,  air,  flowers,  candles,  the 
flutter  of  feminino  garments,  tiie  strains  of  music 
from  the  orchestra,  and  the  chanting  of  sweet,  boy- 
ish young  voices.     One  sinister  note  was  evident  in 
the  mingling  of  the  soldiery  with  the  crowd,  alien 
and  unwelcome,  their  presence  studiously  ignored 
whenever    possible,    tho    only     with     discretion. 
Tlie  shadow  of  the  uprising  lay  ov(;r  the  city.     An 
unacknowledged    terror    knocked    at    every   heart. 
Still,  it  was  so  early  iu  the  revolution  that  secret 
hope  burned  in  eac  h  breast.     In  the  plaza  about 
the  Iglesia  ]\layor  the  dense  crowd   grew   denser 
with  each  moment.     The  gU)ry  of  the  great  feast 
day  was  about  to  bourgeon,  and  every  one  impa- 
tiently awaited  the  moment  when  the  life-sized  fig- 
ure of  the  Christ  should  appear  at.  the  door  of  the 
church    and    proclaim     in    his    body    the    risen 
Lord. 

Forth  from  an  iron  gateway  there  issued  a  litllr 
band,  aerial,  s[)iritual,  like  visions  seen  in  dreams. 
They  Avere  children  dressecl  as  angels.  Kone  could 
have  been  more  than  eight  years  of  age.  Their 
sweet,  childish  faces  were  serious  with  that  adoles- 
cent gravity  which  only  infaniile  innocence  can 
wear.  They  looked  straight  aliead  of  them  as,  led 
by  two  sisters,  they  emerged  from  the  cool  green- 
ness of  the  inner  courtyard  into  the  scarlet  blaze  of 
the  sun,  and  walked  in  double  file  down  the  dusty 

278 


MKROKDES 

a  play:  a  shifting 
lovers,  candles,  the 
lie  strains  of  music 
nting  of  sweet,  boy- 
note  was  evident  in 
ith  the  crowd,  alien 
)  studiously  ignored 
7  with  discretion, 
over  the  city.  An 
ed  at  every  heart, 
volution  that  secret 
In  the  plaza  about 
crowd  grew  denser 
•y  of  the  great  feast 
nd  every  one  impa- 
len  the  life-sized  fig- 
ir  at  the  door  of  the 
is    body    the    risen 

there  issued  a  Utile, 
lions  seen  in  dreams, 
angels.  Kone  could 
•ears  of  age.  Their 
ous  with  that  adoles- 
iniile  innocence  can 
ilicad  of  them  as,  led 
j'om  the  cool  green- 
o  the  scarlet  blaze  of 
3  file  down  the  dusty 


THE  EASTKU  OF  LA  MEliCKDES 

street  toward  the  church.  All  were  dressed  in 
short,  fluffy  white  skirts,  their  plump  arms  bare, 
and  springing  from  their  shoulders  were  gauze  and 
silken  wings.  Their  heads  were  crowned  with 
chajilets  ot  flowers,  and  in  their  hands  they  bore 
palni-leavt'S.  The  sisters  carried  lighted  cardies, 
and  intoned  a  chant,  joined  by  two  more  sisters 
following  the  children. 

Araceli  and  her  aunt  pressed  forward  to  get  a 
better  view. 

"  Sanctissimi!  "  whispered  Araceli  to  Joaquin, 
"  do  you  see  I'epita?  Is  slie  not  angelic?  What  a 
pity  that  one  wing  is  a  little  crooked !  I  remember 
I  was  an  angel  at  ICaster  when  I  was  five.  Ah, 
how  proud  I  felt !  And  you,  Joaquin— you  were 
the  Christ  that  same  Easter,  do  you  remember?" 

The  young  man  smiled  sardonically. 

'•Yes,  I  remember,"  he  said  indift'ertntly. 
"  What  nonsense  it  all  is!  I  have  learned  betuov 
in  the  United  States." 

The  aunt  crossed  herself  piously  as  a  priest  her- 
alded by  acolytes  passed  in  pomp. 

"Cuidado!"  ("Look  out"!)  whispered  Araceli 
sharply,  a  slight  tremor  shaking  her  voice.  Even 
as  she  uttered  the  warning.  General  Mellia,  civil 
and  military  governor  of  the  city  and  province, 
went  by  in  full  uniform,  gorgeous  in  lace  and  mili- 
tary trappings,  attended  by  his  staff. 

Joaquin  Agramonte  looked  attentively  at  the 
2T9 


THE   i:AS'rKJl  OF  L.V  MKltCEDKS 

Spaniard.  The  tcusiou  of  his  inmiUi  iuereased. 
The  girl,  watching  his  face  intontly,  funiul  soine- 
Ihiug  there  to  aruuse  her  fears. 

"  Are  you  iiuder  suspicion?  "  she  asked  in  a  faint 
tone  that  seemed  to  exhale  from  motionless  lips, 

"Yes,  assnredly,"  replied  .Joaipiin.  "  Do  you 
suppose  an  Agramonte*  could  spend  four  yi  rs  in  a 
university  in  the  United  States  and  ret\irn  t  >  Cuba 
at  the  cnitbrcak  of  another  revolution  and  not  be 
suspected?  .^fy  family  is  like  your  own,  .Vraceli, 
born  to  tight  and  die  for  Cuban  liberty.  I  have 
come  back,  and  I  know  what  the  consequences  may 
be.  There  in  the  plaza  yonder  the  Spaniards 
burned  the  body  of  my  ancestor,  (ieneral  Ignacio 
Agramonte,  after  he  had  fallen  in  battle,  and  scat- 
tered his  ashes  to  the  v.  inds.  I  too  am  an  Agra- 
monte, and  Cuba  may  have  me  if  neci-ssary."" 

"Madre  de  Dios!"  ("Mother  of  God!'")  mut- 
tered the  girl,  her  face  growing  aslien  under  her 
mantilla.     The  young  num,  wlio  l.ad  spoken  pas- 

*The solid  silver  sepulclu'r,  llie  tluoiu'  ..fthe  Virgin,  aiul 
till'  fi'iuriil  altar  in  the  cIuuuIm.I'  La  Mcicwli's.  in  I'uerio 
I'rinciiJu,  were  given  by  llie  aiiceatora  of  Caridad  Allien). 
General  Ignacio  Agramonte.  coiumander-in-chief  of  tlui 
Cuban  forces  in  the  ten  years'  war.  had  his  body  imblirly 
burned  by  the  Spaniards  in  tlie  plaza  afier  they  found  him 
.lea.l  on  the  battle-tield,  an.l  his  :ishes  were  scattered  to  the 
winds.  Nearly  e^ciy  male  nienibir  of  the  Agramonte  fam- 
ily has  b.'en  educated  in  the  Unile<l  States  for  generations, 
and  most  of  ihem  have  fallen  lighting  for  Cuba's  liberty. 

2S0 


is  mouth  increased, 
tontly,  foniul  soine- 

siie  asked  in  ii  faint 
n  motionless  lips. 
Joaquin.  '"  :'o  you 
pciid  four  n  I's  in  a 
1  and  rettirn  t  >  Cuba 
volution  and  not  bo 
!  your  own,  A  raceli, 
an  lilicrty.  I  have 
le  consequences  may 
nder  the  Spaniards 
l,or,  (ieneral  Ignacio 
1  in  battle,  and  scat- 

I  tuo  am  an  Agra- 
3  if  necessary." 
ler  of  God!")  mut- 
ng  aslieu  under  her 
•ho  l.ad  spoken  pas- 

liroiici.f  the  Virgin,  aiul 
Lii  Mt'icedi's.  ill  I'uerui 
tors  of  Ciuidiul  Aguero. 
iiiiinder-in-cliief  of  tlio 
•.  liml  his  liody  imbllily 
iza  aficr  tliey  fuuinl  him 
hf.s  wins  Kcatti'iod  to  tlie 
!■  of  tlio  Asrnuuoiite  fam- 
(1  SuitfS  for  generiilioiLS, 
iiu;  i'V  Cnlia's  liberty. 


THH  EASTKU  OV  LA  MKKCHDES 

ijionately,  but  in  hushed,  cautious  tones,  took  sud- 
den noto  cf  the  girl's  agitation. 

"Cheer  up!"  he  said  brightly.  '-Von  know 
what  that  red  and  yellow  Hag  means  for  you  and 
for  every  woman  in  Cid)a  as  long  as  it  floats  over 
this  island.  Until  it  comes  down  there  is  no  hope 
for  any  of  you  to  become  like — — " 

He  broke  off  abruptly,  and  with  averted  eyes 
seemed  to  cmitemplate  some  inner  comparison. 

"Ah,  I  know,"  said  the  girl  quickly.  "You 
mean  like  las  sefioritas  Americanas!  Ves,  they 
are  educated,  cultured;  they  are  permitted  to  at- 
tend the  great  schools  with  the  men,  and  to  speak 
and  write;  and,  Uios  niM^,  they  may  be  lawyers 
and  doctors — is  it  nut  so'.'  " 

"Yes." 

"  Ah,  how  happy  they  must  be !  Do  they  know 
how  much  they  liave  to  be  thankful  foi?  " 

"  They  are  very  " — a  long  pause — "  admirable." 

His  face  was  pensive. 

The  [girl's  glorious  dark  eyes,  filled  with  the  la- 
tent lires  of  the  women  of  her  race,  gazed  tixedly 
at  him,  ami  then  dilated  as  the  with  an  inner  il- 
lumination. 

'•And  they  are  very  beautiful,"  .slie  said  in  a 
quick  staccato. 

'•  Hush,  Araceli !"  said  the  aunt  sternly.  •'  Why 
do  you  si)eak  so  loud?     Y(ni  should  be  saying  an 

Ave." 

281 


i 


Tllb:  EASTEU  OK  I- A  MERCEDES 
The  girl\  eyes  imi-eratively  dcmauileaau  answer 

of  the  youth. 

'•  Ves,  they  are  beiiutiful,"  he  said,  apparently 
with  reluetaiH-e;  "but  they  are  also  attractive  iu 
other  ways.     They  are  iutellertual." 

"Ah,  yes!"  the  girl  sighed,--"!  understand. 
Joaquili,  when  you  come  back  from  the  field  I  too 
will  speak  English.  You  sec  1  know  a  little  now, 
and  tlien  1  can  learn  something.     I  too  will  be  edu- 

The  young  mau  let  his  eyes  rest  on  her  with  an 
uufathoniuble  expression. 

"  Vou  are  --•v  quick,  Araceli.  an.l  you  will 
learn  rapidly.      Vou  shall  have  one  of  my  books.  ' 

She  smiled  her  thanks. 

'•  But  tell  me,  what  is  your  mission?     What  are 

you  going  to  do? "  ^     ,      ,  ^ 

Under  pretext  of  observing  the  spectacle,  he 
closely  scanned  all  who  were  near.  Then  he  re- 
plied in  carefully  modulated  tones  :  "  I  am  to  go  to 
Gomez  with  despatches-no,  do  not  be  alarmed, - 
my  messages  are  all  vei^al-and  after   I  deliver 

them  I  shall  join  Marti."  .     ,•      ,- 

'•Ah  'El  Maestro'!    Let  us  say  a  prayer  f(U- him. 
An   ironical    expression  flitted  over  the  youug 

man's  features. 

"Us,    Araceli?     No,   you  say  the  prayers    .0- 
(lay.     I  am  here  only  for  appearance'   .sake,     it 

there  be  a  God "' 

282 


i 


I 


IHKCEDES 
imauded  au  answer 

3  said,  apparently 
also  attractive  in 

lal." 

, "  I   understand. 

roni  the  fielil  I  too 

know  a  little  now, 

I  too  will  be  edii- 

rest  on  her  with  an 

celi,   anil  you  will 
one  of  my  books." 

lission?     What  are 

the  spectacle,  he 
lear.  Then  he  re- 
les  :  "  I  am  t<>  go  to 
)  not  be  alarmed, — 
and  after  I  deliver 

ly  a  prayer  for  him." 
ed  over  the  young 

ay  the   prayers   to- 
pearance'   .sake,     if 


TIIK   KASTKU  nF   LA  .MEKCKDES 

"Ah,  Mother  of  (iod,  be  silent!  "  said  the  girl 
in  a  hoarse  whisper,  crossing  herself.  "Joaquin, 
it  is  not  safe  to  speak  so  here.  What  if  they 
slionld  hear  you'.*  Uesides,  Avhat  ha:5  liappened  to 
yon?  Viai  did  not  use  to  talk  this  way.  Do  you 
not  l)elieve  in  (iod  and  heaven!  " 

'■  1  believe  in  the  ireedom  of  Cuba,"  he  replied 
firmly.  "Liberty  is  my  religion,  and  1  will  live 
and  die  lighting  for  it." 

"'  I'atria  y  Liliertad,' "  murmured  the  girl. 
"  Yes,  I  too  would  die  for  Ciiha  if  need  be.'" 

They  had  now  reached  the  plaza.  The  throng, 
closely  packed  in  the  church,  overilowed  on  to  the 
steps,  out  into  the  plaza  and  the  adjacent  streets, 
silent,  attentive,  devout.  The  deep  solemnity  of 
an  intensely  religions  sentiment  brooded  like  an 
actual  presence  over  the  hushed,  expectant  thou- 
sands. From  withhi  tho  curiously  stained  walls  of 
the  old  church  there  roll*  d  the  deep,  sonorous 
waves  of  music,  stately,  solemn,  serene.  T  .en 
one  impressive,  vibrating  interval  of  silence,  while 
the  very  air  seenu-d  to  undulate  ^•ith  soimd-phan- 
toms  that  pierced  the  inner  senses.  Every  eye 
was  ardently  fixed  on  the  church  door.  In  their 
religious  exaltation  they  had  reached  that  peculiar 
psychic  climax  where  the  illusion  becomes  the  mir- 
acle; and  as  the  doors  swung  oi)en  and  the  radiant 
figure  of  the  Chirst  appeared,  borne  on  a  gorgeous 
canopied  platform,  au  overi)Owering  burst  of  har- 

283 


f 


Till-:  EASTER  OF  LA  MEIU'EPKS 

mony  and  tht>  (•hiiiiing  lif  niiiiiy  bells  jicalftl  forth 
tliG  risen  Lonl. 

The  array  was  a  stately  one.  Priests  and  fa- 
thers in  sui)erl)ly  enibruidered  vestments  walked 
solemnly,  attended  by  incense-bearers  who  thing 
aromatic  pcMfunies  from  their  gold  and  silver  ves- 
sels ont  into  the  shinuuering  nir,  and  by  a  choir  of 
boys  whose  voices  of  crystalline  jmrity  penetrated 
the  vohinie  of  the  orchestra  and  the  incessant 
chiming  of  tl  e  bells  like  a  dominant  motif. 

In  front  walked  little  I'epita  ISencoma,  wlio  had 
the  honor  of  i.njjcrsonating  the  Christ.  She  was  a 
small,  well-for  ned  child,  abont  live  years  old.  Her 
large  dark  eyes  were  dilated  by  the  strange,  con 
fused  emotions  vhat  snrged  in  her  childish  sonl — 
awe,  inspired  by  a  nebnhnis  idea  of  the  Divine 
tragedy,  and  vanity  cansed  by  the  envy  of  lier  play- 
mates. She  had  cried  at  hrst  when  her  mother  had 
told  her  that  she  mnst  have  her  beantifnl  liair  cut, 
but  now  sbe  was  proud  of  the  short,  crisp  curls 
that  clustered  about  her  pretty  head.  J'^very  de- 
tail of  the  crucifixion  w^is  pictured.  In  the  ])ersou 
of  this  unheedhig  child  were  represented  the  agon- 
ies of  Calvary.  The  tiny,  upraised  palms  of  her 
hands  were  red  with  the  painted  laceratiojis  of  the 
cross.  Her  snuill  bare  feet,  thrust  into  sandals, 
showed  the  marks  of  the  nails.  A  sinmlated  crown 
of  thorns  was  pressed  into  her  temples,  and  blood- 
stains trickled  over  her  fondiead,  wrists,  and  ankles. 

284 


.  MEIU'EOKS 

iiy  bt'lls  jii'iilt'd  forth 

no.  rrit'sts  and  fa- 
.■d  vcstmeiits  walked 
se-bearers  who  thing 
•  gohl  and  .silver  vi's- 
air,  and  by  a  clioir  of 
ine  ijurity  penetrated 
a  and  the  incessant 
minant  molif. 
ta  ISenconia,  mIio  liati 
le  Christ.  SLi!  was  a 
it  five  years  old.     Her 

by  the  strange,  con 
n  her  childish  soul — 
;  idea  of  tlu)  Divine 

the  envy  of  her  i>lay- 
,  when  her  mother  had 
ler  beautiful  bair  cut, 
the  short,  crisp  curls 
tty  head.  Every  de- 
tured.  In  the  ])crsou 
represented  the  agon- 
praised  palms  of  her 
ited  laceratioiis  of  the 

thrust  into  sjuidals, 
i.  A  simulated  erown 
(r  temples,  and  blood- 
ad,  wrists,  and  ankles. 


In  front  waiKcd  l.ttlf   P.p.t.i  Bei-.^-ma 


Tin:  EASTER  OF  LA  ISlKltCEDES 


Slie  wore  lait  ii  single  garment— a  short,  coarse 
brown  skirt.  Tlu^  upper  part  of  her  body  was  bare, 
and  in  her  side  wus  portrayed  the  spear-thrust.  As 
she  walked,  her  eyes  fixed  .steadily  in  front  of  her, 
she  remembered  that  her  mother  had  told  her  that 
she  must  uot   notice   any    of   her  friends    in   the 

throng. 

The  great  solid  silver  sepulcher  of  the  church  of 
La  Mercedes  in  which  the  Christ  had  l)een  interred 
on  Good  Friday,  and  from  which  he  had  now  arisen 
amid  this  joyous  and  triumphant  clangor,  was  os- 
tentatiously borne,  a  symbol  of  death  cheated  of 
its  prey.  The  child-angels  followed,  their  white 
and  spotless  garments  fair  in  the  g(jlden  glamor  of 
light,  and  their  piping  voices  heli)ing  to  swell  the 
tide  of  music,  while  over  all  the  unceasing  chi- 
ming of  the  bells  made  a  heavy,  rhythmic  harmony. 
The  great  multitude  pressed  in  closely.  Dark  eyes 
glowed  under  the  mantilla,  and  there  was  a  riot  of 
color  and  beauty  fit  for  a  carnival.  Each  member 
of  the  procession  carried  a  lighted  candle,  and 
many  bore  palm-leaves  or  garlands  of  flowers. 

The  music  swelled  louder  as  the  i)rocession  swept 
on  toward  La  Mercedes,  gorgeous  in  pomp  and 
pegeantry,  effulgent  and  imposing,  a  spectacle  of 
military  and  ecclesiastical  power  in  a  country  even 
at  that  moment  deep  in  the  throes  of  rebellion 
against  both  church  and  state.  Onward  proceeded 
the  cavalcade  to  the  plaza  of  La  Mercedes.     Wiu- 

285 


THE  EASTKR  OF  LA    MKltCKDES 


(^()^vs  of  liouses  wtTu  open,  and  iu  iiiiiiiy  iiiiiicared 
pulniM,  tlo\v(>i's,  and  plants,  or  ima^'es  of  Clnist  or 
tlm  Vir^'in.  As  tlin  procpssion  turnt'd  at  last  toward 
the  great  opiii  square  of  tlie  chnreh  for  tlu'  tiinil 
ceremonies,  the  cuhniiiation  of  tlie  Hjx'ctacular 
effects  Wcas  most  imjtressive.  !!orne  liigh  in  air, 
Mary,  the  divine  mother,  came  forth  from  the 
church  to  greet  her  risen  Son.  She  was  crowned 
with  a  golden  lialo,  and  lier  garments  of  j)ure  white 
glistened  in  the  snnlight  with  gold  and  silver  and 
precious  gems  that  adorned  her  person  and  made 
lier  a  dazzling  figure.  The  music  that  now 
pealed  forth  rolled  throughout  the  city  and  far  be- 
yond its  confines.  Thr  two  figures  of  the  Christ 
and  our  T^ady  of  Mary  Sorrows  were  carried  side 
by  side  into  the  great  sanctuary,  and  there  seated 
on  two  thrones,  that  of  the  Virgin  being  of  solid 
silver. 

The  deep-toned  organ  in  the  loft  took  up  the 
theme  in  sonorous  tones,  and  the  choir  burst  into 
an  anthem  of  stately  beauty.  The  eager  throng 
wedged  itself  within  the  church  and  gazed  entranced 
at  the  sc(Mie.  The  central  altar  of  ornate  solid  sil- 
ver, banked  with  a  profusion  of  flowers,  glowed 
with  the  light  of  inniunerable  candles,  their  points 
of  flame  illuminating  the  ligures  of  a  host  of  saints 
disposed  in  the  niches.  The  piiests  ascended  the 
steps  in  solemn  array,  and  as  the  celebration  of  the 
high  mass  began,  a  great  awe  settled  upon  the  peo- 

280 


V    MK [{CEDES 


THE  EAST  EH  (>V  LA   MEItCKDES 


ul  iu  iiiuiiy  appeared 

!•  images  of  Cliiist  or 

I  turiu'il  at,  la.st  toward 

clmu'li  for  tlif  tiiiiil 

of    tlio    Hpcctacular 

liorne  liigli  in  air, 

ame  forth   from   tlie 

She  was  crowned 

innents  of  jiure  white 

li  goUl  and  silver  and 

er  person  and  made 

le    music    that    now 

b  the  city  and  far  be- 

igures  of  the  Christ 

ws  were  carried  side 

ry,  and  there  seated 

'irgin  being  of  solid 

he  loft  took  lip  the 
the  choir  burst  into 
.  The  eager  throng 
1  and  gazed  entranced 
ar  of  ornate  solid  sil- 
n  of  flowers,  glowed 
candles,  their  points 
•es  of  a  host  of  saints 
priests  ascended  the 
;he  celebration  of  the 
settled  upon  the  peo- 


ple, whicli  dec])eiiecl  as  the  service  piogro^sed  witii 
the  mingled  perfumes  of  tlio  flowers  and  the  odor 
of  the  incense,  tlie  misty  Hgures  of  thechild-angi'ls 
and  the  acolytes  seen  cloudily  through  the  wreaths 
of  Itlue  smoke  ascending  from  the  swinging  etMiseis, 
the  chanting,  the  intoiuul  prayers,  the  jialpitating 
waves  that  surged  through  the  church,  until  an 
et'l'ect  sinister  ami  unreal  was  created  in  the  mind 
of  a  Hiieetator  not  deluded  with  its  pomp. 

Araceli  followed  the  services  with  a  devout  in- 
tensity, but  Agramonte  made  but  a  perfunctory 
show  of  devotion.  His  face  was  impassive.  It 
was  impossible  to  imagine  wliat  might  be  passing 
in  his  mind. 

At  last  the  long  and  intricate  service  was  con- 
cluded. The  audience  began  to  disjjcrse  sluwly, 
being  impeded  by  tlu;  many  outside  who  had  not 
been  able  to  obtain  entrance,  but  who  had  i»atiently 
waited  throughout  the  services. 

Slowly  carried  along  in  the  crush,  Arai'eli  and 
Joaquin  reached  the  door.  As  they  emerged  and 
viewed  the  throng  from  the  top  of  the  high  flight 
of  steps  forming  the  entrance  to  the  edifice,  Joa- 
quin's quick  eye  discerned  at  the  foot  of  the  steps 
to  the  left  the  signal  that  meant  lite  or  death  to 
him.  Pushing  through  the  crowd  was  a  S])auish 
officer  accompanied  by  four  soldiers.  Realizing 
that  in  a  moment  more  he  would  be  under  arrest 
and   his   fate   in  all   probability   sealed,   doaciuin 

287 


THK  KASTKI!  <»F  LA   MKIIC'EDKS 

inHtantly  turnod  Id  tho  riglit  iintl  foroilily  mudi'  liisi 
way.  AlUio  not  on»  jtersoii  in  tt  ii  could  .-.ti' 
tlic  Holdii'iH  from  that  sido  of  tlio  cliiinh,  an  intui- 
tivo  undiTstunding  lla-sln'il  like  a  niagnt'tic  wavo 
through  the  hearts  of  all.  Agianionti'  quickly 
gained  the  right  of  the  clnirrh,  where  not  moic 
than  fifty  feet  away  his  serxant  Htood  waiting  with 
his  liorse. 

Tho  watchfiil  eyes  of  tlif  Spanish  oIIIct  caught 
the  movement,  and  ordering  two  of  hi-i  incn  to  fel- 
low lum,  they  roughly  pushed  asiile  tho  now  torri- 
llod  jH'ople  witli  their  rifles.  The  three  rushed  up 
the  steps  while  the  other  two  attempted  to  reach 
the  right  side  of  the  jda/a  through  the  crM\,  d.  As 
tho  otliccr  gained  tho  top  of  the  flight  and  ciiught 
sight  of  Agraniontu,  lie  ordered  his  nun  to  l\\v.  at 
luni  over  the  heads  of  tho  throng.  As  they  raised 
their  ritles,  a  shriek  pierced  the  air,  and  Aract-li, 
throwing  up  both  arms  wildly,  riished  from  be- 
hind and  i)us1uhI  the  ritles  upward.  With  an  oath 
the  office  I  seized  the  girl  and  flung  her  bark  into 
the  church.  Again  the  shots  rang  out,  but  Agra- 
monte  had  swung  himself  into  the  saddle,  and  was 
now  in  front  of  the  houel  Oriental ;  where,  as  he 
was  turning  into  the  Calle  Sa  'a  Afia,  tht5  soldiers 
fired  again,  this  time  wounding  him. 

Hiding  liko  th,^  wind  out  the  ^auta  Ana  road 
until  near  the  bridge,  he  spied  a  horse  standing 
under  a  mango-tree.     Knowing  that  it  was  of  vital 

attb 


V    MKlIfEDKH 

iinl  foirilily  Miiilr  liis 

)U      ill      till      CDIllll      N»'l^ 

tlio  cliuirli,  an  iiitui- 
iko  ii  inugiit'tii'  wiivo 
AgriiiiKiiito  (iiiickly 
irli,  whero  not  inoif 
lit  Htood  wiiitiiig  with 

Spanish  oIlicT  ciiuKlit 

I  wo  (if  lli.<   MICH  to  t'l'l- 

l  aside  tlio  now  toiri- 
Tlm  tliico  nislu'd  iij» 
1  atteuijitLMl  to  veiicli 
•oiigh  the  (•i'<i\,  d.  As 
the  Might  and  ciiught 
led  his  nil  n  to  liin  at 
:ong.  As  they  r.iiwod 
the  air,  and  Aiactli, 
Idly,  I'uslii'd  from  he- 
)\vard.  With  an  oath 
I  thing  her  l)urk  into 
i  rang  out,  but  Agra- 
;o  the  saddle,  and  was 
hiental;  where,  as  lie 
I  'a  ATia,  tht5  soldiers 
ng  him. 
the  ^auta  Ana  road 
)ied  a  horse  standing 
ing  that  it  was  of  vital 


TIIK  KASTKIl  OK  LA  MKHCKHKH 

importani'O  to  start  his  imrsuers  on  the  wrong  trail, 
he  cut  the  hiti-hing-slrai),  and  lashing  the  hoi  so  fu- 
riously, drove  him  over  tlif  bridge  in  a  idoud  of 
dust,  while  he  tunu d  sharply  to  the  left  ami  down 
u  narrow  side  street,  eventually  taking  a  road  that 
lod  toward  Najassa,  to  the  soiithi  ast.  Not  \intil 
the  hot  and  turagfd  soldiery  came  up  with  the 
riderless  hoise  near  the  hospital  of  San  Lazaro  did 
they  realize  that  their  prey  had  escaped. 

Inside  the  church,  Araceli,  cared  for  l>y  her 
aunt  and  by  many  fiicidly  hands,  revived  from 
the  unconsciousness  that  had  drowned  her  senses. 

With  the  smoldering  hatred  of  Spain  iind  her 
despotism  fanned  into  a  fiercer  and  yet  more  rebel- 
lious Hame,  the  populace  hurried  to  their  homes. 

Within  the  deserted  church  the  Christ  and  the 
Virgin  sat  alone,  serene  and  divine  amid  their 
fragrant  offerings. 

CllAI'TKU    11. 

"  Mkjuki,,  we  are  almost  there  now?  " 

"Yes,  Araceli." 

The  girl  shivered  a  little  in  the  gibbous  moon- 
light. A  cold,  unearthly  light  lay  over  the  land- 
scape, and  the  fringe  of  palms  in  the  distance 
loomed  against  the  horizon  like  specters  through 
the  thick  white  mist  that  curled  up  from  the  earth. 
Their  horses'  hoofs  echoed  on  the  ground  und  oc- 
19  ae'J 


THE  EASTER  OF  LA  MERCEDES 

casionally  swished  in  the  high,  wet  grass.  Silence 
fell  between  the  two  again,  and  they  rode  withont 
speaking,  each  wrapped  in  somber  thoughts.  Pres- 
ently the  girl  spoke  again. 

"Miguel!" 

"Yes." 

"  Will  they  be  expecting  us?  " 

"No,  T  scarcely  tlunk  so;  but  Joaquin  will  not 
be  surprised  to  have  me  join  him." 

The  girl  turned  sharply  in  her  saddle. 

"Join  him,  Miguel!" 

"  :\Iy  dear  sister,  you  know  I  would  go  to  the 
woods  sooner  or  later,  and  you  know  Joaquin  is 
my  dearest  friend.     We  will  go  together." 

"  Then  you  will  not  go  back  with  me?  " 

"You  had    better    stay  with    aunt    Dolores   a 

while." 

As  he  spoke  they  emerged  from  a  shaded  road 
into  the  open  portrero,  and  not  far  in  front  Oi  them 
lay  the  beautiful  country  home  of  the  Sanchez  at 
Vista  Ermosa,  located  back  from  the  road  under 
the  shade  of  marmacillos  at  the  end  of  a  long  ave- 
nue of  palms. 

As  they  approached  the  house  it  was  evident 
that  even  at  midnight  there  was  an  unusual  activ- 
ity. Lights  showed,  and  figures  were  moving 
about. 

"  Quien  va?  "  ("  Who  goes?  ")  came  the  impera- 
tive demand,  as  Miguel  and  Araceli  turned  their 

200 


uA  MERCEDES 

gli,  wet  grass.     Silence 

and  they  rode  without 

ember  thoughts.     Tres- 


us?  " 

);  but  Joaquin  will  not 

u  him." 

in  her  saddle. 

now  I  would  go  to  the 
1  you  know  Joaquin  is 
ill  go  together." 
ack  with  me?" 
with    aunt    Dolores   a 

jed  from  a  shaded  road 
not  far  in  front  oi  them 
lome  of  the  Sanchez  at 
ik  from  the  road  under 
it  the  end  of  a  long  ave- 

le  house  it  was  evident 
■0  was  an  unusual  activ- 
d   figures  were    moving 

oes?")  came  the  impera- 
md  Araeeli  turned  their 
0 


THE  EASTER  OF  LA  MERCEDES 

horses  into  the  palm  aveiuio,  and  the  wanin;; 
moonlight  glinted  along  the  barrel  of  a  rilie  in 
front  of  them. 

'•  -gramonte,"  responded  Miguel  promptly. 
"This  is  my  sister,  Carlos.  Is  Joaquin  badly 
hurt?  " 

"  No,  sefior, "  said  the  sentry,  saluting. 

"  There  are  thirty  of  us  to  go  with  him  now." 

"Good!," 

"Ah,  Miguel!"  cried  a  dozen  voices,  as  tliey 
reined  up  at  tlie  open  sala.  "  Welcome !  Bueuo.s 
dias,  senorita." 

"  Araeeli, "  said  a  well-known  voice,  "  you  here ! 
Let  me  help  you.     You  must  be  tired." 

Five  leagues  of  liard  riding  in  the  saddle  under 
an  intense  mental  tension  had  weakened  the  girl, 
and  she  trembled  as  Joaquin  assisted  her  from  her 
horse. 

"  No,  I  am  not  tired.  You,  Joaquin,  your  wound 
■ — is  it  a  severe  one?  " 

"No;  a  mere  scratch  in  my  arm  and  shoulder, 
and  the  left  at  that.  I'm  in  luck.  I  low  is  it  that 
you  have  come  out  here,  Araeeli, — to  see  Miguel 
off?  " 

She  was  sitting  in  the  nearest  hammock,  and  the 
light  of  a  lamp  fell  squarely  on  her  face.  As  ho 
spoke,  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  and  in  the  inten- 
sity of  that  glance  the  full  revelation  of  the  trulh 
dawned  upon    him.     The    discovery  was    lil.o  a 

291 


THE  EA3TEU  OF  LA  MERCEDES 

shook  to  liis  gentle,  cl.ivalrmis  nature.  A  wave  of 
soinelhing  like  self-reproach  ran  over  him  Had 
they  not  been  perhaps  something  more  than  friends 
before  he  had  left  the  island? 

"You  are  faint  from  fatigue,"  he  said  gently. 
"  Stay  here  and  I  will  get  you  a  cup  of  coffee." 

When  he  returned  he  found  her  pale  as  ivory, 
but  calm    and    self-possessed.     By   the   light  of 
lamps  and  candles  the  scene  of  hurried  activity  la- 
miliar  .o  the  early  days  of  the  revolution  went  bus- 
ily forward.     HiHes,  saddles,   blankets,  harness- 
all  the  miscellaneous  paraphernalia  of  the  little  in- 
surgent band  lay  scattered  around,  while  the  nun 
pushed  their  preparations  for  departure  with  vigi- 
lant haste.     Out  in  la  cocina  the  women   of  t'.e 
household  busied    themselves  about  large   kettles 
swinging  over  glowing  beds  of  ftre,  and  the  odor  of 
fragrant  coffee  tilled  the  air.     Every  one  was  en- 
gaged in  some  office.     Even  the  children  were  up, 
and  with  childish  curiosity  were  deep  in  tte  enjoy- 
ment of  the  scene,  the  import  of  which  they  failed 

to  realize. 

«  Araceli,"  said  Joaquin  kindly,  and  with  a  deep 
inward  emotion,  "  1  have  heard  what  you  did  this 
morning.     I  know  that  I  owe  my  escape  to  you. 

"  No,  it  is  nothing, "  said  the  girl  in  a  suppressed 

voice.  ^    ^  .. 

"  Yes    it  is  more  than  nothing.     Just  now  it 

means  everything  to  me.     I  shall  never  forget  it. " 

293 


^  MERCEDES 

3  nature.  A  wave  of 
rau  over  him.  Had 
ing  more  than  friends 

;ue,"  ho  said  gently, 
u  a  cup  of  coffee." 
.nd  her  pale  as  ivory, 
id.     By   the   light  of 
of  hurried  activity  fa- 
le  revolution  went  bus- 
s,   blankets,  harnesH— 
lernalia  of  the  little  in- 
iround,  while  the  nitn 
)r  departure  with  vigi- 
na  the  women   of  the 
03  about  large  kettles 
of  fire,  and  the  odor  of 
ir.     Every  one  was  eu- 
i  the  children  were  up, 
were  deep  in  tl*e  eujoy- 
nt  of  which  they  failed 

kindly,  and  with  a  deep 
leard  what  you  did  this 
we  my  escape  to  you." 
.  the  girl  in  a  suppressed 

nothing.     Just  now  it 
I  shall  never  forget  it." 


THE  EASTER  OF  LA  MERCEDES 

"  You  need  not  remember  it,"  replied  Araceli,  in 
a  tone  so  stilled  that  .Ioa<iuin  could  scarcely  catch 
the  words. 

"Need  not  romoinber  it,  Araceli!  Why,  what 
do  you  mean !  We  have  been  friends  ever  since  we 
were  children  together,  and  I  have  thought  more  of 

you   than   of — of "     The  impulse  which  had 

carried  him  thus  far  failed   him.     lie  dared  not 
finish  it. 

'•Thau  of  any  other  girl,  Joaquin?  " 

The  words  escaped  from  white  and  motionless 
lips.  Her  eyes  blazed  in  an  ashen  face,  but  her 
manner  was  strangely  quiet.  The  issue  which  he 
would  so  gladly  have  avoided  suddenly  confronted 
him,  and  eveiy  impulse  of  his  nature  shrank  from 
it.     His  averted  eyes  stared  hard  at  the  ceiling. 

"Joaquin,  look  at  me." 

After  a  pai:iful  hiterval  their  eyes  met  in  that 
revealing  and  illuminating  gaze  that  defies  deceit. 
In  that  moment  she  knew  the  truth  which  she  had 
fought  against  believing;  yet,  even  as  the  blow 
fell,  her  strength  returned. 

"It  is  too  late,"  she  said,  v/ith  a  strange  smile. 
"Very  well,  it  is  fate." 

"Araceli,"  began  Joaquin  appealingly. 

She  waved  him  aside  with  a  little  imperious  ges- 
ture he  remembered,  and,  turning  in  the  hammock, 
she  looked  far  out  into  the  night  and  spoke  slowly, 
as  tho  in  a  dream : 

29.3 


TIIK  EASTER  (»F  LA  MERCEDES 


"All,  it  is  IK)  matter!  I  knew  how  it  would  bn. 
You  have  been  four  years  in  tlie  I'nited  States  and 
you  liave  mot  their  women.  They  are  not  ignorant 
like  us,  and " 

"Araoeli!" 

"  And  they  are  free — free  to  learn  the  thousand 
and  one  graces  of  the  intelleet  which  give  them 
sueh  a  charm,  such  an  advantage  over  us.  Ah, 
Dios  mio,  why  did  1  have  to  bo  a  Cuban  woiiian !  "' 

Her  voice  was  anguished.  Iler  purplish  black 
hair  lay  in  heavy,  damp  masses  about  her  brow. 

"Araceli,  listen;  there  are  no  better  or  more 
beautiful  women  in  the  world  than  the  Cuban 
women.  God  knows  I  honor  and  revere  them.  I 
think  too  much  of  you  to  cause  you  one  pang  if  I 
could  help  it." 

"Ah,  no,  no,  no!  I  do  not  blame  you.  It  is 
not  your  fault." 

"Heaven  knows  not  intentionally.  I  beg  of  you 
to  try  to  replace  me  with  some  one  who " 

"Ah,  could  you  now  replace  her — that  other!  " 

"  Why  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  just  can  we  not 
control  these  things?  ".  cried  Joaquin. 

"  They  are  beyond  our  power ;  they  come  and  go 
like  lightning,  and  it  is  done." 

"  Araceli,  you  are  a  brave  girl." 

"No,  not  brave.     Perhaps  1  am  proud." 

"  Proud!  It  is  I  who  am  proud  of  you.  Listen, 
Araceli.     At  dawn  I  go  to  the  woods,  and  I  shall 

294 


A  MERCEDES 

knew  how  it  would  bo. 
tlie  United  States  and 
Tliey  are  not  ignorant 


to  learn  tho  thousand 
lloct  which  give  them 
■antage  over  us.  Ah, 
)  bo  a  Cuban  wojiian !  "' 
Her  purplish  black 
sses  about  her  brow, 
ire  no  better  or  more 
orld  than  the  Cuban 
jv  and  revere  them.  I 
ause  you  one  pang  if  I 

not  blame  you.     It  is 

tionally.      I  beg  of  you 

me  one  who " 

ice  her — that  other!  " 

that  is  just  can  we  not 

I  Joaquin. 

wer ;  they  come  and  go 

e." 

I  girl." 

IS  1  am  proud." 

proud  of  you.     Listen, 

the  woods,  and  1  shall 


THE  KASTKU  Ol'  LA  MERC^KHES 

stay  there  luitil  Cuba  is  free  or  until  1  full.  We 
do  not  know  whether  we  shall  ever  meet  again. 
For  tho  sake  of  our  old  frienaliip,  for  the  sake  of 
Cuba,  let  us  part  friends." 

'•  For  tho  sake  of  our  old  friendship ?  It  is  dead. 
For  the  sake  of  Cuba?  ^^■ho  k.iows  what  her  fate 
may  be!  For  these— no;  but  for  your  sake,  Joa- 
quin, f  ^r  your  sake— yes." 

He  felt  shaken  to  the  heart. 

Leaning  a  little  forward,  ho  touched  her  hand 
unobserved.     "  God  bless  you!  "  be  whispered. 


The  night  wore  slowly  away.  In  the  dense 
darkness  that  precedes  the  dawn  all  was  at  length 
quiet  save  for  the  subdued  voices  of  Miguel  and 
Joaquin,  who  had  talked  all  night  with  that  com- 
panionship of  men  in  arms  who  know  they  are 
comrades  to  the  death. 

A  solitary  candle  ilickered  feebly,  and  by  its 
uncertain  beam  could  be  seen  the  forms  of  the  men : 
some  in  their  hammocks,  some  on  tho  floor;  all 
fully  dressed,  and  each  with  his  rifle  near. 

"It  is  time  we  prepared  for  the  start,"  said 
Joaquin.  "  You  had  better  call  Jose  and  have 
him  set  about  saddling  the  horses." 

The  words  had  scarcely  left  his  lips  when  a 
rifle-shot  rang  out.  In  an  instant  every  man 
leaped  to  his  feet.      From  within  came  the  terrifled 

295 


f 


THE  EASTER  OF  LA  .MERCEDES 

exclamationa  of  the  womeu  and  the  shrill  cries  of 
the  children  before  they  rushed  out. 

Ere  the  full  realization  of  tlie  significance  of  the 
shot  dawned  upon  them,  the  second  shot  echoed 
crisply. 

"  The  horses,"  cried  Joaquin.     "  Mount!  " 

There  was  a  confusion  of  voices,  a  sharp  chal- 
lenge, and  the  third  warning  of  the  outpost  was 
answered  by  a  volley  from  the  enemy  which  sent  a 
hundred  Mauser  bullets  whirring  through  the  grove 
with  that  peculiar  metallic  wail  which,  once  heard, 
can  never  be  forgotten.  Some  of  the  balls  cut 
their  way  tlu-ough  the  house.  The  volley  was  in- 
stantly replied  to  by  a  soore  of  shots  from  the 
('ubans. 

"Come,"  shouted  Joaii-.ai,  "that  will  hold  them 
in  check  until  we  can  escape.     Come,  Miguel!  " 

As  he  spoke  he  threw  himself  into  the  saddle, 
but  at  that  moment  :Miguel  gave  a  cry  and  sank 
to  his  knees  in  the  doorway  leading  to  the  inner 
rooms.  Joatiuin  sprang  from  his  horse  and  rushed 
to  him.  There,  supported  on  her  brother's  shoul- 
der, lay  Araceli,  white  and  motionless,  blood 
slowly  oozing  from  a  small  orifice  in  the  bosom  of 
her  dress.  One  of  the  missives  of  death  had  found 
its  mark.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  her  face  peace- 
ful. It  was  impossible  for  an  unpractised  eye  to 
tell  whether  she  breathed  or  not. 

"Araceli!  Araceli!"  cried  Miguel. 


MERCEDES 

1(1  the  shrill  cries  of 
d  out. 

le  sigiiiiicance  of  the 
second  shot  echoed 

Q.  "Mount!" 
voices,  a  sharp  chal- 
of  the  outpost  was 
I  enemy  which  sent  a 
ng  through  the  grove 
il  wliich,  once  heard, 
me  of  the  balls  cut 
Tlie  volley  was  in- 
B  of  shots  from   the 

"  that  will  hold  them 

Come,  Miguel !  " 
self  into  the  saddle, 
gave  a  cry  and  sank 
leading  to  the  inner 
his  horse  and  rushed 
1  her  brother's  shoul- 
d  motionless,  blood 
rifice  in  the  bosom  of 
OS  of  death  had  found 
osed,  her  face  peace- 
m  unpractised  eye  to 
not. 
^liguel. 


THE  EASTEU  01''  hX  MEIICKDES 

They  bent  over  her. 

She  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  vaguely  upward. 

"Where — are— you?— 1— can— not— see " 

Shaking  with  emotion,  Joa(iuin  slipped  his  arm 
under  her  head. 

"  Araceli,  I  am  here.     Speak  to  me !  " 

"  Ah,— Joacpnu— Miguel  —  good-by.  It— is— 
better — so.     Kiss  me."' 

Her  head  fell  back.  The  agonized  women  burst 
into  convulsive  sobbing. 

*':Motlier  of  Cod!"  cried  Carlos,  breaking  into 
the  little  group,  "fly  instantly!  The  Spanish 
column  is  almost  here." 

"Come,  Joaquin,"  said  Miguel,  "she  is  dead. 
The  Spanish  rcj^ilars  will  not  molest  women  and 
children.     Let  us  escape  to  avenge  her." 

Joaquin  hesitated  a  second,  with  his  eyes  fas- 
tened on  the  face  of  the  dead  girl— his  playmate 
and  child-sweetheart  in  days  gone  by.  She  had 
lost  her  life  in  coming  to  see  him.  She  would  have 
given  it  gladly  to  save  him,  could  she  have  done 
so.  Would  the  other  in  the  United  States,  to  whom 
he  was  engaged,  do  as  much!     Quien  sabe? 

Again  came  the  warning  voice  of  the  brother : 
"Joaquin,  the  Spaniards  are  coming  down  the 
lane.  Our  men  have  all  gone.  You  have  not  a 
moment  to  lose." 

It  was  true;  the  clanking  of  the  enemy's  side- 
arms  could  already  be     mrd.     Hastily  tearing  the 

297 


THE  EASTER  OF  LA  MEUCEDES 

little  l)au<lerillafroin  lii3  hat,  ho  laid  tho  miniature 
Cuban  flag  tenderly  over  tho  little  hlue  hole  in  her 
breast,  from  which  a  few  drops  of  blood  had 
trickled  down,  pressed  his  lips  to  the  cold  white 
forehead  for  just  an  instant,  then  vaulting  mto  the 
saddle,  was  away  like  tho  wind. 

"You  have  Agramonte  here,"  said  tho  Spanish 
colonel,  reining  up  in  front  of  the  house. 

"  He  is  gone,"  said  one  of  the  women. 

"After  him!"  ordered  the  colonel  to  his  men. 
"Who  is  that  you  are  nursing?"  he  asked  sus- 
piciously, pointing  toward  tho  cot  where  Araceh 

lay. 

The  woman  kneeling  by  her  raised  her  grief- 
distorted  face  defiantly,  and  iiung  one  arm  out  with 
a  gesture  as  tho  she  would  strike. 

"Spain's  first  victim  of  the  revolution.  Look 
at  her,  if  you  wish.     It  is  our  Easter  offering  to 

your  monarchy." 

The  colonel  strode  across  the  room,  glanced 
down  at  the  inanimate  form,  and  started  V)ack. 
Removing  his  hat,  he  said:  "Care  for  her  ten- 
derly.    She  is  my  wife's  s'ster." 


298 


V  MERC  I'M  )E!4 

lio  laid  tho  miniature 
little  blue  luile  in  her 
drops  of  blood  had 
ips  to  tho  cold  white 
then  vaidting  into  the 
nd. 

ire,"  said  tho  Spanish 
if  the  house, 
tho  women. 
10  colonel  to  his  mon. 
3ing?"  ho  asked  sus- 
;he  cot  where  Araceli 


Romance  of 

a  Tin  Roof 

and   a   Fire-Escape 

By 

Myrta  L.  Avary 


her  raised  her  grief- 
liung  one  arm  out  with 
itrike. 

the  revolution.     Look 
our  Easter  offering  to 


If 


S3  the  room,  glanced 
rm,  and  started  l)ack. 
d:  "Care  for  her  teu- 
ster." 


299 


UOMANCK  OF  A  TIN  1UK)F  AND 
A  FIRE-FSCAPE 


You  can  live  iii  New  York  M  your  life  and  not 
know  your  next-door  neighbor,  is  iin  oM  proverb 
applicable  to  all  large  cities,  b'lt  presenting  only 
that  side  of  tho  question  seen  by  people  who  are 
not  blfssi'd  with  adjoining  roofs  and  tire-escapes. 

Mary's  and  Dorothy's  windows  opened  on  a 
beautiful  tin  roof —"  almost  e(iual  to  a  summer- 
garden,  "  they  declared  in  their  simple-hearted  en- 
joyment of  this  luxury :  a  very  hot  one,  by  way 
of  reflection,  on  a  summer's  day;  a  cool  one,  after 
sundown,  if  any  wind  was  blowing.  Tho  girls 
were  fond  of  spreading  straw  mats  on  the  tin, 
piling  up  a  bt  of  cushions  thereon,  and  stretcliing 
themselves  lazily  under  the  summer  starlight  until 
Ihey  had  "  cooled  oif  "  and  hud  forgotten,  in  looking 
at  the  pure  calm  of  intinito  heights,  tiie  stuffy 
downtown  oflice  and  tho  everlasting  tick  of  the 
typewriting-machines. 

They  were  full-blooded  Knickerbockers,  and  had 
"  Van  "  before  their  names.  They  were  stenog- 
raphers also;  Mary  earned  fifteen,  J)orothy  twelve 

301 


i< 


UOMANCH  OF  A  TIN  KOOF 

ilolliU'S  a  WH.k,  U.o  larger  portion  of  which  wont 
t.)  tlimr  landlady,  leavinj,'  a  slim  n'niain.U-r  for 
clothL-3  and  car-fare.  Somehow,  they  always  man- 
aged to  look  trim.  They  were  handy  with  needles 
and  renovating  imidenientH;  and  after  conang  from 
their  work,  usnally  i-ut  in  an  hour  or  two  of  their 
evenings  in  repairing  wardrobes. 

"I  don't  know  what  woidd  become  of  us  if  it 
wasn't  for  tho  roof,"  said  Dorothy,  who,  likt^ 
Trilby,  had  a  fancy  for  light  laundry-work,  evi- 
dence of  which  was  usually  fluttering  from  tho  line 
on  the  roof-especially  on  tho  Sabbath,  which  was 

a  great  wash-day. 

"How  people  who  haven't  a  roof  clean  ilieir 
wheels,  /  d.m't  know,"  commented  Mary,  strug- 
gling with  her  own  at  that  particular  minute. 

"And  how  do  they  dry  their  heads?"  mused 

Dorothy. 

Head-washing  and  drying  their  long,  unbound 
tresses  in  the  sun  was  another  Sunday  occupation. 
Moreover,  they  did  a  lot  of  sewing  on  that  roof 
Sundays.      Let  those  who  have  never  needed  to 
practise   Sabbath   industries   forbear   to   criticize. 
And  let  not  tho  uninformed  think  ^lary  and  Doro- 
thy isolated  oases  of  depravity.     Their  conduct  is 
the  rule,  and  not  the  exception  in  New  York  city, 
where  two   thirds   of  the  great  army  of  female 
stenographers  spend  their  Sabbaths  in  worthy  en- 
deavor that  they  may  present  a  tidy  appearance 

•M2 


r 


IN  KOOW 

rtioii  of  which  wont 
slim  riMiuiiiiiU'f  for 
w,  they  always  man- 
)  hiiiuly  with  neoiUns 
1(1  aflt'rcoiiiiiiijfrnm 
hiiur  or  two  of  tlicir 

L'S. 

il  l)oeoino  of  vis  if  it 
Dorothy,  who,  liku 
t  hmmlvy-woik,  evi- 
ittering  from  tho  line 
)  Siibbath,  whic'h  was 

t  a  roof  clean  tlieir 
miented  Mary,  stnig- 
irticular  luinutc. 
.hoir  heads?"  luusetl 

;  their  long,  unbound 
3r  Sunday  occupation. 
;  bowing  ou  that  roof 
lavc  never  needed  to 
forbear   to   criticize, 
think  ]Mary  and  Doro- 
ity.     Their  conduct  is 
ion  in  New  York  city, 
^reat  army  of   female 
abbaths  in  worthy  en- 
eut  a  tidy  appearance 


AND  A  I'MUK-KSCATK 

during  the  week.  They  have  no  money  to  pay  for 
their  sewing,  they  have  no  other  time  in  which  to 
do  their  sewing;  they  must  b(t  neat  wlien  they  go 
to  work  or  they  can  not  keep  their  work. 

Mary  and  Dorothy  s(pieeze(l  a  religious  service 
into  evc-y  Sabl)ath.  TlK'y  wcro  regular  attendants 
on  an  old  aristocratic  downtown  church,  in  whose 
graveyard  their  great-great-grandfatlior,  one  of 
New  Amsterdam's  greatest  and  richest  citizens  in 
his  day,  was  quietly  sleeping  in  honorable  sepulture, 
while  his  pretty,  gentle  great-great-granddaughters 
were  struggling  to  make  their  daily  bread  and  tho 
modest  gowns  in  which  they  t'  jiped  past  his  tomb 
into  the  old  church,  to  whot.e  imisperity  his  wealth 
and  devotion  had  contributed,  ami  into  whose  cof- 
fers their  i)ennies  drojjped  faithfully  every  Sun- 
day. In  this  church  worshiped  with  them  those 
wlio  would  have  recognized  the  bond  of  blood  and 
have  advanced  tlieir  interests,  had  it  ever  occurred 
to  the  young  wonu'u  to  make  their  existence  and 
their  poverty  known. 

What  with  churehgoing,  sewing,  washing,  iron- 
ing, wheel-cleaning,  et  cetera,  Sunday  was  a  busy 
day.  "It  would  kill  us,"  they  told  each  other, 
"  but  for  the  roof.  We  are  not  grateful  enough  for 
such  a  blessing.  How  ilo  those  poor  girls  live  who 
have  to  do  all  tlieir  work  iu  one  room?  " 

"How  fortunate,"  they  reiterated  a  thmisand 
times,  "  that  that  dear  good  tree  stands  in  just  the 

808 


ROMANCE  OV  A  TIN  ROOF 

right ;  laco  to  preserve  our  i)rivacy  on  the  one  side; 
ami  that  we  aro  Hanked  on  tlie  otlier  with  a  piano 
factory  whicli  no  one  inhabits  Sundays;  and  that 
nobody  but  women  ever  take  the  fourth-floor  looms 
next  door !  " 

They  were  to  lose  the  last  cause  for  congratula- 
tion. 


One  Sunday  at  high  noon,  Dorothy  was  lianging 
her  Ktockings  on  the  line. 

A  gfutlenian  stepped  out  on  the  fire-escape  next 
door. 

Dorothy's  sense  of  embarrassment  was  mixed 
with  a  feeling  that  she  ought  to  call  a  policeman 
and  have  a  stop  put  to  this  invasion  of  private 
rights. 

The  unhappy  man  got  such  a  stare  that  he  ex- 
claimed hastily,  '*  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon !  "  and 
fitu'ubled  back  into  his  window. 

"  ;'olly,"  said  Dorothy,  sticking  her  head  into 
her  own  window,  "it's  too  bad  for  anything!  A 
man's  taken  the  roou\  next  door!  " 

"  What's  he  like?  "  asked  I'olly. 

•  •  •  •  • 

For  several  days  after  Dorothy's  stare  scared 
him  indoors,  the  man  did  not  dare  put  his  head  out 
of  his  window — that  is,  when  tlioy  were  around. 
Also  ho  kept  his  blinds  half  drawn. 

304 


A  TIN  ROOF 


AND  A  FI]lP>ES('ArE 


•  j)rivacy  on  the  one  side; 
n  tlie  otlier  with  a  piano 
abits  Sundays;  and  that 
ike  the  fourth-floor  rooms 

last  cause  for  con^ratula- 


;m,  Dorothy  was  lianging 

it  on  the  fire-escape  next 

ibarrassment  was  mixed 
mght  to  call  a  policeman 
this  invasion  of  private 

such  a  stare  that  ho  cx- 
beg  your  pardon ! "  and 
mdow. 

,   sticking  her  head  into 
lo  bad  for  anything!     A 
t  door!" 
:ed  I'olly. 

:  Dorothy's  stare  scared 
not  dare  put  his  head  out 
when  tlioy  were  around, 
alf  drawn. 
)4 


"  Ho  must  die  of  the  heat  in  there,"  said  Doro- 
tliy,  as  if  divided  between  humane  impulses  and 
the  desire  that  he  should. 

lie  seemed  to  keep  pretty  well  posted  as  to  their 
movements.  After  a  certain  Sunday  morning 
when,  in  the  exuberance  of  their  spirits  over  the 
event,  they  made  such  noisy  preparation  for  a  sail 
that  everybody  in  earshot  was  obliged  to  be  aware 
of  the  contemplated  excursion,  they  returned  quiet 
and  subdued,  for  the  Long  JJranch  boat  liad  left 
the  dock  before  they  reached  it.  Sfary  stretched 
herself  on  the  sofa  for  a  good  cry,  and  Dorothy 
sought  consolation  in  hanging  a  bowl-full  of  stock- 
ings out  to  dry. 

While  she  was  thus  occupied  the  shutter  across 
the  way  opened,  and  her  neighbor  stepped  forth, 
a  lot  of  wet  clothes  on  his  arm. 

"Oh,  I  ljr>/  your  pardon!"  he  exclaimed,  meet- 
ing the  indignant  light  of  Dorothy's  blazing  eyes. 
And  straightway  stumbled  back  into  his  den. 

"Oh,"  thought  Dorothy,  "  what  have  I  done!  " 

She  reached  inside  her  window  for  an  alpenstock 
(brought  from  the  Catskills  last  summer  and  doing 
duty  now  as  a  mural  decoration),  and  tapped  her 
neighbor's  casement  with  it. 

He  put  his  head  out  doubtfully.  He  had  very 
respectful — and  very  beautiful — eyes. 

"  I — I  beg  your  pardon, "  stammered  Dorothy, 
"but — but — they  won't  dry  white  indoors." 
20  3or> 


3 


llOMANCE  OF  A  TIN  KOOF 

"Oh,  it's  of  no  consequence!  "  he  said,  bhishint^ 
to  the  roots  of  his  liair.  ''  The  washerwoman  will 
get  them  to-morrow  anyway.  I  just  didn't  know 
what  to  do  with  myself.  I  didn't  know  anybody 
was  around." 

"I_l'll  lend  you  some  clothes-pins,"  faltered 
Doiothy.  Then  feeling  that  she  had  done  her  best 
to  make  the  man  welcome  to  his  own  fire-escapo,  filie 
r.'treated  iudoo-s  to  tell  her  troubles  to  IMary,  who 
took  delight  in  what  had  happened,  and  hoped  that 
the  man  next  door  would  give  up  his  room  because 
of  the  manifold  disadvantages  of  the  situation. 

.  •  •  •  ■ 

He  played  the  mandolin,  and  played  it  well. 

Sometimes,  when  they  stepi)ed  on  to  the  roof, 
they  found  him  on  his  tiro-escape,  playing  softly. 
He  would  stop  instantly,  and  beat  a  hasty  retreat. 

They  had  begun  to  like  him  somehow,  and  to 
feel  sorry  for  him.  He  seemed  to  be  so  lonely; 
like  themselves,  so  poor ;  and  he  was  so  self-effa- 
cing in  order  that  their  free  use  of  their  roof  might 
be  uninterrupted. 

One  night,  after  their  appearance  had  driven 
him  to  voluntary  imprisonment  behind  his  shutters, 
INIary  with  her  guitar  and  Dorothy  with  her  banjo 
took  up  the  broken  melody.  Presently  his  man- 
dolin began  to  answer,  timidly,  a  note  now  and 
then. 


806 


I 


(V  TIN  llOdF 

[ice!  "  he  said,  bhishiii!:,' 
The  washerwoman  will 
ly.  I  just  didn't  know 
I  didn't  know  anybody 

clothes-i)ins,"  faltered 
at  slie  had  done  her  best 
i  his  own  fire-eseapo,  sho 
r  troubles  to  IMary,  who 
appened,  and  hoped  that 
;ive  up  his  room  because 
iges  of  the  situation. 

,  and  played  it  well. 
3tep[)ed  on  to  the  roof, 
e-escape,  playing  softly, 
md  beat  a  hasty  retreat. 
Le  him  somehow,  and  to 
seemed  to  be  so  lonely ; 
and  he  was  so  self-effa- 
36  use  of  their  roof  might 

appearance  had  driven 
ment  behind  his  shutters, 
.  Dorothy  with  her  banjo 
dy.  Presently  his  man- 
bimidly,   a  note  now  and 


)6 


A.M)  A  nUE-EHCAl'E 

lie  no  longer  took  flight  when  they  appeared. 
I'nless  very  serious  laundry  ojierutions  were  go- 
in.7  forward. 

Indeed,  ono  Sunday  Mary  looked  out  of  the 
window  to  behold  liim,  after  liangiug  out  his  own 
wash,  seated  on  the  iire-escape  playing  the  man- 
dolin to  Dorothy  while  she  hung  out  her  st(jck- 
ings.  Various  neighborly  interchanges  of  soaps 
and  washhig-sodas  marked  each  week's  intereourse. 

"Hardly  good  form,"  mused  INIary.  "]!ut  it 
isn't  good  form  to  Ije  at  all,  if  you've  got  to  be 
poor. " 

Almost  every  evening  found  the  trio  repeating 
joint  and  sweet  discourses  on  mandolin,  lianjo, 
and  guitar,  lie  had  a  good  voice,  and  the  three 
dropped  into  the  way  of  singing  all  the  jolly,  pop- 
ular new  choruses  together. 

Bicycles  constituted  another  bond  of  union. 

It  began  by  his  stepping  over  from  his  fire-escape 
and  taking  the  job  of  cleaning  her  wheel  off  Mary's 
hands  one  day.  After  that,  he  cleaned  all  the 
wheels— his  own  included— on  the  roof. 

Of  course  they  got  to  riding  together.  He  wps 
a  blessing  to  them  in  this  respect,  for  there  were 
rides  they  had  longed  to  take  and  had  never  taken 
because  of  having  no  male  escort  at  command. 

They  had  found  out  all  about  him. 

He  was  a  Southerner,  a  gentleman  by  birth  and 
breeding;   and  he  was  an  art  student,   trying  to 

307 


ROMANCE  OF  A  TIN  ROOF 
his  way  \>y  illustratiug  magazinea.     Inciilent 


ally   ho  owned  several  caiiieia 
revtleil  i'.i  having  their  pictu'- 
mock    and    off    hanuuucU,     on 
wheels. 


and  his  friends 
taken — in  ham- 
wheels    and    off 


"Can  I  bring  my  friend?" 

The  answer  was  a  foregone  conclusion.  No,  \  3 
impossil.le,  for  behind  Jack  stood  a  tall,  broad- 
ahouMered  young  fellow,  violin  in  hand.  More- 
over, Jack  didn't  wait  for  answer.  He  had  come 
to  look  upon  the  roof  with  a  sense  of  proprietor- 
ship. His  hanuuock,  potted  plants,  and  other 
properties  had  taken  position  over  there.  He 
swung  his  long  leg  over  the  fire-escape,  and  his 
friend  followed  suit. 

That  was  the  first  night  of  the  quartet. 
"Do  you  know  whom  we  have  entertained  on 
the  roof  to-night?  "  asked  Mary,  when  the  guests 
had  made  their  adieus  and  crossed  back  to  Jack's 
over  the  fire-escape. 

"Mr.  De " 

"  Exactly.  One  of  -the  Four  Hundred.  Mem- 
ber of  an  old  Huguenot  family,  which  has  grown 
richer  and  more  exclusive  with  every  decade." 

"This  is  becoming  dreadful!     I  wonder  whom 
Jack  will  bring  up  here  next?  " 
"Jack's  ways  are  inscrutable." 
"I  do  hope,"  whimpered  Dorothy,  "he'll  never 
;J08 


9i 


1 


riN  ROOF 


lagaziiiea.  Inciilent- 
•a  and  his  friends 
XVK-  taken— ill  ham- 
on     wheels    and    off 


conclusion.  No,  \  3 
stood  a  tall,  broad- 
)liu  ia  hand.  More- 
is  wer.  lie  had  come 
a  sense  of  proprietor- 
•d  plants,  and  other 
ion  over  there.  He 
e  fire-escape,  and  his 

:  the  quartet. 
3  have  entertained  on 
lary,  when  the  guests 
rossed  back  to  Jack's 


'our  Hundred.     Mem- 
lily,  which  has  grown 
ith  every  decat'e." 
Ifvd!     I  wonder  whom 
t?" 
able." 
Dorothy,  "he'll  never 


I 


AND  A  FIRE-ESCAPE 

lind  out  who  our  grandpa  was.  It  would  be  such 
a  disgrace  to  grandpa." 

"  He  is  l)Ound  to.  In  your  -.visdom  you  lent 
grandpa's  miniature  to  .Jack  for  him  to  use  in  his 
art  work." 

"  Dear  me!  ho  must  go  among  all  our  swell  kins- 
folk here !  I  do  hope  he  w  -n't  tell  them  we'  re  alive !" 

In  the  room  across  the  way  the  smoke  from 
Dick's  cigar  was  descriliing  pearly  cloudlets  around 
grandpa's  miniature,  which  Dick  was  regarding. 

"  l'.y  Jove!  "  he  was  saying,  "a  Vice-rresident's 
granddaughters!     And  living  that  way!  " 

"Forbear,  old  fellow!  I'm  livuig  that  way, 
you  know." 

"Oh,  you— you're  a  man!  That's  different. 
But  old  Vice-rresident 's  graiuldaughters !  " 

"  Well,  he  wouldn't  be  ashamed  of  them." 

"  Ashamed  of  them?     By  gad,  no!  " 

"  Cleverest  girls  I  know.  Wonderful  how  they 
make  a  gentlewoman's  home  out  of  that  fourth- 
story  den  of  theirs.  Looks  like  an  artist's  -^tudio 
inside." 

"  How  did  they  come  to  such  straits?  " 

''Always  been  in  them,  I  reckon." 

"  Then  how  the  deuce  did  they  ])ick  up  their  ac- 
complishments? Wlien  I  took  Mary  over  by  the 
chimney,   because  I  thought  you  wanted  a  word 

with  that  little  'Dot' " 

30!) 


1 


'^.] 


ROMANCE  OK  A  TIN  KOOF 

"  How  good  of  you— so  disinterested!  " 
"I'm    always    good— wc   dropped   into   French 
over  your  potted  plants.     She  talks  French  like  a 
Favisian." 

"Mother  was  one.  Father  belonged  to  the 
American  legation  in  Faris,  married  a  French- 
woman—a smgev—mesal/utncc,  you  see.  Died 
soon  after  his  return  to  Statcn  Island— after  losing 
all  his  money  in  Wall  street.  His  wife,  never  too 
cordially  received— tho  she  was  a  splendid  woman 
—  shrank  into  herself;  educated  her  daughters 
herself— and  died,  just  as  they  were  beginning  to 

bo  useful." 

"These  girls,"  said  the  young  man,   speak"  ig 
gravely,  "have  kindred  here  who  would  help  them 

if  their  plight  were  known " 

"It  will  never  bo  known." 

. 
Art  had  brought  Jack  and  Dick  together.     The 

friendship  begun  before   their  easels  in  C 's 

studio  was  strengthened  by  musical  bonds;  they 
drifted  into  the  same  glee-club;  into  tho  same 
wheeling  club.  Dick  had  money  to  burn.  Jack 
had  none.  Dick  lived  in  a  Murray-Hill  palace, 
and  made  Jack  welcome  to  it;  and  Jack,  a  Soutli- 
ern  thoroughbred  of  the  purest  strain,  became  it 
as  a  fine  jewel  a  handsome  setting ;  but  he  preferred 
his  "  attic  "  and  the  roof  to  palace  and  drawing- 
room.     And  since  Dick  was  overfoud  of  Jack,  and 

310 


IN  KOUF 

terested ! " 
opped    into   French 
talks  French  like  a 

>r  belonged  to  the 
married  a  French- 
c,  you  see.  Died 
Island— after  losing 
His  wife,  never  too 
.3  a  splendid  woman 
ated  her  daughters 
ly  were  beginning  to 

oung  man,   speak"  ig 
vho  would  help  them 


Dick  together.     The 

ir  easels  in  C 's 

musical  bonds;  they 
dub;  into  the  same 
loney   to  burn,   Jack 

Murray-Hill  palace, 
;;  and  Jack,  a  South- 
■est  strain,  became  it 
ting ;  but  he  preferred 

palace  and  drawing- 
jverfoud  of  Jack,  and 


I 


AND  A  FIRE-ESCAVfi 

Jack  wouldn't  come  to  Dick,  Dick  went  to  Jack, 
and  presently  became  a  great  frcuiuenter  of  the  roof. 
His  smart  friends  began  to  wonder  what  had 
become  of  him,  and  were  scandalized  to  discover 
that  he  had  taken  up  with  typewriter  girls— styl- 
ish, i)retty-looking  girls,  but  typewriter  girls,  for 
all  that,  and  girls  wlio  rode  wheels  on  Sunday. 

By  this  time  Dick  was  so  deliriously  in   love 
that  he  did  not  care  what  became  of  him.     Ah! 
those    long,    beautiful   rides   under   soft   summer 
moons,  up  lUverside  drive,   to   Yonkers,   to  Fort 
Lee,  over  the  bridge  to  Brooklyn,  and  along  the 
cycle-path     to    Coney  —  delightful,    disreputable 
Coney,  where  they  checked  the  wheels,  and  stollcd 
out  on  the  beach,  and  stretched  themselves  full 
length  on  the  sands,  and  looked  up  at  the  stars  or 
out  on  the  ocean  to  the  lights  of  passing  ships;  and 
sang  snatches  of  songs,    and  jabbered  nonsense; 
and  ate  sandwiches  and  hut  tamales,  and  drank 
sarsaparilla,    root-beer,    and  other    abominations. 
"Sometimes,"  as   Dorothy  described  these  times 
years  after  in  her  Murray  Hill  home.  "  we  fell  so 
low  that  wo  actually  drank  clam-chowder!  " 

The  fo.ur  went  bathing  Saturday  afternoons  at 
Coney— than  which  nothing  could  be  more  per- 
fectly dreadful,  for  everybody  that's  nobody 
washes  himself  at  Coney  Saturday  afternoons,  and 
nobody  that's  anybody  ever  goes  there  at  all. 
Dick  proposed  Manhattan  Beach. 
3il 


i 


1 


I 

ii 
If 


ROMANCE  OF  A  TIN  KOOF 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Mary.  "We  like  Coney— 
Coney's  so  nice  anil  oounnon." 

"15esi(k'S,"  said  Dovotliy,  "your  fine  friends 
might  catch  you  with  us.  And  you'd  want  to  in- 
troduce lis,  and  thoy  woukln't  want  you  to ;  and  we 
shouhlu't  enjoy  that." 

There  were  some  roof  improvements  after  Dick's 
admittance.  Rainy  weather  had  been  a  trial  to 
the  trio. 

"Oh,  I  wish  that  the  weather  woul(li'"t  rain  ! 
Oh,  I  wish  that  the  weather  woulthrt  rain  ! 
I'it-a-pat,  pit-ii-pat,  on  the  wiiulow-pauo, 
I'it-a-pat,  pit-a-pat,  goes  my  lieart's  refrain  ! 
For  my  true  love  I  never  can  see, 
(For  our  true  Unes  wo  never  cau  see) 
As  h)ng  as  the  weather  will  rain  ! 
As  long  as  the  weather  will  rain  !  " 
Dreadful   dirges  like   this,    with  mandolin  ac- 
companiment on  one  side  Mie  brick  wall  and  banjo 
and  guitar  on  the  other,  afflicted  neighborhood  ears 
until  skies  cleared. 

The  addition  which  made  the  trio  a  quartet  was 
unaccustomed  to  having  his  will  crossed  by  small 
matters,  and  he  was  not  going  to  let  a  little  thing 
like  rain  work  division  between  him  and  Mary. 
One  night  the  girls  returned  from  work,  and  stuck 
their  heads  out  of  the  window,  and  behold!  there 
was  a  wonderful  awning-tent  on  the  roof. 
.  •  •  • 

Sad  times  came  to  the  roof  people. 
312 


1 


TIN  KOOF 

"  We    like   Coney — 

,  "  your  fine  friends 
\n(l  you'd  want  to  in- 
t  want  you  to;  anil  we 

rovements  after  Dicik's 
r  had  been  a  trial  to 

r  woiiUlr't  rain  ! 

r  wouliln't  vain  ! 

he  window-pane, 

i  my  heart's  refrain  ! 

an  see, 

er  can  see) 

vill  rain  ! 

srill  rain!" 

is,    with  mandolin  ac- 

le  brick  wall  and  banjo 

icted  neighborhood  ears 

)  the  trio  a  quartet  was 
is  will  crossed  by  small 
ing  to  let  a  little  thing 
itweeu  him  and  Mary. 
d  from  work,  and  stuck 
low,  and  behold!  there 
ut  on  the  roof. 

lof  people. 


AND  A  KIKK-ESCATK 

Jack  had  fever.  Dick  camo  and  nursed  him 
night  and  day;  the  girls  crawled  back  and  forth 
across  the  lire-escape,  bearing  bowls  of  gr\iel  and 
beef-tea  and  little  cujis  of  jolly.  Wlu'u  tlio  fever 
was  at  its  worst  they  took  it  turn  about  with  Dick, 
and  sat  up  all  night  too.  Once  they  feared  they 
must  send  him  to  the  hospital,  tho  lie  rebelled 
against  it  with  all  his  feeble  might.  Fortunately 
the  fever  was  high  and  short. 

With  their  own  labors,  the  awful  hot  weather, 
their  cramped  quarters,  and  tlie  caro  of  Jack,  the 
girls  were  ready  to  collapse  when  Jack  began  to 
convalesce.  Fortunately  Sei>tember  and  their  two 
weeks'  vacation  were  at  liand.  Then  the  most 
delightful  thing  ia  life  happened.  Dick  took  them 
all  off  in  his  yacht.  The  quartet,  with  commend- 
able regard  for  conventionalities,  drummed  up  a 
couple  of  efficient  but  inoffensive  chaperones,  one 
of  whom  was  Dick's  aunt— a  kind  body,  ready  to 
give  Dick  the  moon  if  he  cried  for  it. 

Would  there  ever  bo  anything  so  beautiful  in 
life  as  that  two-weeks'  cruise  in  Dick's  yacht? 
Yet  Dorothy  came  back  with  an  ache  in  her  heart. 
Mary,  later  met  by  Dick,  was  wooed  and  won, 
while  here  was  Jack,  who  must  know — how  could 
he  help  when  she  had  shown  it  so  plainly  to  every- 
body when  they  thought  he  would  die  of  the  fever? 
—and  who  had  never  spoken  a  word  of  serious 
purpose.     I'erhaps  poverty  held  him  back— yet  he 

I!  13 


1 


m 


ROMANCE  OF  A  TIN  ROOF 

might  tell  her  so.  A  maiden's  piido  was  worth 
something.  Artists  were  light  o'  love— had  .she 
not  heard  that? 

•  •  * 

The  moon  looked  down  on  the  roof,  and  on  Doro- 
thy and  Jack— studying  astronomy  perhaps.  Dick 
had  taken  Mary  to  see  his  mother. 

A  mandolin  and  a  banjo  lay  idle  on  a  pile  of 

cushions. 

Jack  waa  bubbling  over  with  spirits.     ^^  hy  not ! 
Artists  are  light  o'  love.     His  drawings  were  be- 
coming all  the  rage  in  maga/ine  circles,  -itioO  orders 
were  snowing  him  under,  and  a  great  publishing 
house  was  about  to  send  him  abroad- indeed,  he 
thought  he  might  go  on  the  same  ship  that  took 
Dick  and  Mary  on  their  bridal  tour.     Dick  and 
Mary  had  besought  her  to  accompany  them— but 
no,  she  would  not.     What  would  become  of  lur? 
The   winter   was   coming;  she  would  be  shr.t  in 
her  lonely  room;   no  roof   garden,  no   anything. 
I'oor  Dorothy,  try  as  she  would,  could  not  look  in 
high  feather. 

"What's  the  mattef.  Dot?    Thought  you  d  be 
glad  of  my  luck.     What  you  so  glum  about?  " 

"It's  abominably  hot,'"  she  yawned;  "and  I'm 
tired  and  sleeky  too,   Jack.      I  wish   you'd  go 

home." 

"You're    fibbing  "-tenderly.       "It^'s   not  the 

weather.     Grieving  about  Mary,  Dot?  " 

3U 


1 


'IN  ROOK 

.'a  pritlo  waa  worth 
it  o'    love — hail  she 


10  roof,  and  ouDoro- 

omy  perhaps.     Dick 

;her. 

ly  idle  on  a  pile  of 

a  spirits.  Why  not? 
3  drawings  were  he- 
ae  cirolos,  .fiaO  orders 
[  a  great  publishing 
I  abroad— indeed,  he 
I  same  ship  that  took 
.dal  tour.  Dii'k  and 
.ccompany  them — but 
,'ould  become  of  lur? 
16  would  be  shut  in 
;arden,  no  anything, 
ild,  could  not  look  in 

?     Thought  you'd  be 
so  glum  about?  " 
0  yawned;  "and  I'm 
I  wish   you'd   go 

,vly.       "It's   not  the 
ary,  Dot?  " 


Tl 


le 


AND  A  FlKK-KSCAl'i: 

"Oh,  yP8  "--carelessly— "about  you  all.  With 
Mary  and  Dick  married,  and  you  gone,  it  will  be 
'  like   a  ban(iuet-hall  deserted,    whose  lights  are 

fled ' " 

"Oh!  you  can  count  upon  the  moon,  Dot. 
moon  shines  in  winter,  you  know." 

"  Don' t  be  frivolous,  Jack,  about  the  moon.     The 
moon's  a  serious  matter.     Really,  I  hate  frivolity 
about    the    moon.       Oh"— breaking    down— "it's 
going  to  be  dreadful— till  Mary  comes  back." 
"Always  Mary." 

"Well,  isn't  ^fary  my  sister?  And  isn't  an 
awful  thing  about  to  happen  to  her?  Think  of 
having  to  associate  with  the  same  man  all  your  life. 
Seriously,  I'm  awful  glad  of  her  and  Dick's  hap- 
piness, but"— aaob— "it's  going  to  bo  dreadful  up 
here  by  myself.     The  quartet's  been  so  jolly." 

"  The  quartet?  Dot,  are  you  grieving  just  about 
the  quartet— and  Mary?  Not  a  little  bit  about  me 
—by  myself?  And  I  was  such  a  happy  poor  devil 
when  I  came  up  here  to-night.  Now,  I  don't  care 
about  ray  good  luck!  Dot,  I  thought  you'd  be 
glad  when  I  told  you  about  my  good  luck— I 
thought  you  would.  I  thought  you'd  be  willing 
to  go  with  me.  I  can't  give  you  yachts  and  a 
rifth-avenue  home,  but— I  thought  you'd  be  glad 
—and  be  my  little  wife.  And  now  you're  loo 
cross  about  Mary  and  Dick  to  care.  Oh,  Dot,  you 
do!  you  do!     My  darling!  " 

315 


L 


I 


